A Simple Machine

 

Sitting here in the basement
Nearly three am
Alone
Building another pulley
Out of scraps
Left over from a demolished floor
Hands ache like the wood
From a hundred years of weight
It’s nothing
Compared to the splinters
Perforating my heart
Still, I sit here a fool
Trying to rub away the flaws
Pumice stone wet with knuckle blood
If this one turns out perfect
It might somehow
Lift me up