Grinding Man

    by Fred Longworth

Back and forth he goes, virtual steel

fanning an invisible block of Arkansas flint.

He raises his right hand, tests the edge

of the phantom blade with his left.

He shakes his head, like a machinist

who's found a burr that needs more sanding.

Then resumes—as if certain that in the next few

strokes he'll have it sharp enough.

He turns an ear to hear the timbre of each draw,

like he used to when he tuned his violin.

I tell you this: Less the push and pull of his loins,

I’d still be dust unsintered into flesh.

Yet here he sits, half-brained and feeble,

the man with whom I work no common stone.

© 2012  Fred Longworth

Fred Longworth restores vintage audio components for a living. His poems have appeared in numerous journals including California Quarterly, Comstock Review, Pearl, Rattapallax, Spillway, and Stirring.