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Cleaned and Oiled (poem)

By Woody Powell

smoothly functioning
like all his machines back home:
the Bridgeport end-mill
the Southbend lathe
the Buffalo drill
the arbor press and vise
he relied upon to make
the parts
for all the other machines
in his care;
that made the gears,
turned, drilled, reamed, honed
countless intricate shapes
that fitted,
by some master design,
together.

he batted a clip home,
worked the slide,
heard the comforting slick-slack
of oiled metal on metal –
and tried only to think
how the brass-jacketed charge
would soon release
an expanding bubble of gas,
pressing a piston
working the action
jacking another round
ready for the next release;
trying never to think
about the master design