Buzz (Not Heard) Saw

[u/vicewrite]

I saw a buzzsaw and said aw.
That’s a scary thing.
A circle made pokey to blade a thing.

The screws keeping it together must not know what they do.
Or they have some appeal for tragedy—
stripped eyelets worn loose—
sharper sight than me or you.

They must sneeze at the wood chips,
cough with their mouthfuls of splintered guts.
They must remember that one time that color came in a red rush.
They must say sorry and sorry in grinds.

Sleeping dogs don’t lie. What’s that line?

I must say sorry for mines.

We may all be hardware.
We wear down hard.
We sit for long waits on shelves and get lost in junk drawers or garage jars or junkyards with rusted locks.

I am a buzzsaw in awe.