#46 reprise

#46 reprise

A tempting offer,
I can see my circumstances now.
Chained to the turning arm of a winch,
pushing all day and night alongside a donkey
following suit.

A bucket hangs from my neck
catching precious blood and tears falling
in the effort to grind corn, the desperation
to keep my Visa buoyant.

From time to time you pass
the creaking slots in the timber
my ceiling, your flooring.
Guests know of no workshop below,
only the wondrous refined flour, famous for
it's shade of bright coral
due to the master's blood spilling toil

Could l be sponsored to operate this grisly machine?
Could l return to the Jane Hotel on Thursday evenings
to party with my fellow 'flour monkeys'?

This silent monologue raises it's finger gently to your lips.
Please don't worry, i'll always be at your mercy.
If ploughing is my duty, l will attend
to my 'cash-in-hand' job for as long
and with all the vigor you demand

My experience so far
sewing that fresh field with seeds
begs to be hired overtime.
Before the harvest floats
down the inside of your thigh
for the final time this night abides.

Jim S

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