Beneath white hospital sheets
He collapsed at work
His iron left him
Slow and quiet he sank
Meeting the wet concrete floor on his way
the wheels were still turning – they couldn’t stop
Red and yellow lights flashing
Gloved hands twisting knobs – they couldn’t stop
And as they carried him out
The whirling and buzzing and humming machines
Lapping up his dripping iron
They couldn’t stop.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2015/3/19 - 22:39
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