Clanking, banging, jiggling the rusted bolts, the machine breaks but meanders to the chore
Going forth into the forge, the flames melting the gourmets, the tracks baron form the many miles
It springs a leak, the oil, the lifeblood spilling on the concrete floor
The patina scrap of hardware patched together from the many stockpiles

Sweltering steam rising from it’s billowing stacks
The brass demands more, faster and more precise
All to save the commonwealth from the broken backs
Stumbling through the corridor, like a roll of the dice.

No rest for the metal, no rest for the worker
Bosses with wingtips on the oak desk
Clamoring to speed the brick and mortar
A melodramatic ending, to suit the Kafkaesque.

Decades recede like the shores of the Atlantic  
Time, a cost of your dedication and struggle
To get a parting gift, a watch with broken hands and a bad tick.
A pseudo gratifying smile, biting the tongue and clenching the knuckle.

On the stone in which the machine lay
To detach from reality and meet the heaven painted on the Sisten
The words inscribed from living say:
Here lies the broken machine