Another shirt sacrificed
to the grease-stain God.

Metal shavings glistening
in my beard,
danger tinsel.

Sparks emanating
from my aching grip,
I'm abrasive.

Eyes a-squint,
in lieu of
safety glasses.

Blood blister.

Hands rended
with numerous
nicks and cuts
all in various
states of healing.

Torn jeans,
blackened knees.

Another shirt
marked with grease.

Old Carolina Loggers
with run-down heels.

This outfit speaks,
I needn't say a thing.

Just a glance and
you know exactly
what makes me,
me.