THE MACHINE

My fingers clench, turn the knob
My arm begins to push
The metal hinged-slab gives
Through the threshold I walk

Steam washes o'er my body
Mist lifts it appears
I stop, stare, I smile
So beautiful I turn way

Inside my chest pounding
This is mine and mine alone
Closing my eyes I take it all
My senses assaulted

Constant humming of lights
Purring electric motors
Rapidly clicking breakers
The ever slow drip of oil

My boots splash a puddle
My torso now in motion
I quickly take my position
The task in my reach

I roughly grab hold of the handle
Arm flexed-and-tense, I pull
The machine now in motion
Desired outcome is achieved

A rushing flood of water
Sensual exhale of steam
Rapid grinding of gears
Loud hammering of pistons

I ready for the next pose
Beads of sweat upon my brow
Looking down in admiration
Waterfalls down from my face

I thrust the handle back in
Thunderous clang of metal
Screeching sound of brakes
Finished, I shudder, I am done

So peaceful, now quiet

The ever slow drip of oil
Rapidly clicking breakers
Purring electric motors
The constant humming of the lights

I stop, I stare, I smile
She is so beautiful

Alison Cassidy
This passionate poem reminds me of 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.' I guess one's approach to the poetic muse (and her favorite subjects) must depend on whether you're a 'romantic' or a 'classical' type. This poem is a 'classic' written with romantic soul. Clever. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

sonetta
men and their cars...tsk tsk tsk.....

Kerry O'Connor
Men do so love their machines - excellent use of sound qualities and metaphoric writing.

Fay Slimm
Never read such a sensuous description of the feel a machine can evoke Steve- - comes over with such force in the narrative that it leaves the reader weak and breathless. ! ! ! ...... excellent verse.

C. P. Sharma
Great poetry of the mechanical rhythms. CP