Spit and rub,
hone the cleaver,
sharpen
surgeon’s scalpel, your knife,
circulate moisture
border to rim,
glanced instruments
worthy to slice
through leather-bound carcass,
the toughest of flesh,
diseased
or virgin pure,
unanaesthetised,
we cope, we grimace,
we lather,
so we endure.
Compacted grit,
bedevilled,
measured,
quarrier’s immortal bone
stropped metallica,
purposed, wet,
abraded life
against dry whetstone.
Rotate the edge, buckle not
when dryness
halts, grinds progress
in task,
double-sided finish
separates blunt
from acuity’s strength,
perspicacity sharpened, unmasked.
scottishmomus 