Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Miner

She told him he looked worn -
a moment away from combustion,
flexing his leathered flesh
in tense concentration.
She took her words
and formed them into a pick.
Sharp edged, she designed them
to quietly search the fine details
of the horizontal crevices of his brow.
The pressure of the day
crystallized his concerns and thoughts
into a tight vein of salt.
While the sweat from this brow
fell downward
and drew a scowl
as it pulled his skin
as hard as his deep contemplation.
Until she finally hit his furthest pit
and gently struck the deepest vein -
enough to satisfy a days work,
and he needed no longer to feign,
but gathered his focus
and relieved her
with a wink
as he began to rethink
of what he's accomplished,

and what is yet to be done.

Jordan R Shaver
6.12.2012