Comfortingly familiar
this lump of cold metal
with its double steely grip –
the gates closed with bolt, nut and washer,
defying gravity with friction –
our lives hung by a spiral thread –
drop-forged or hot pressed,
now dressed with
oil and rust in equal measure,
heavy and hard on the hands,
but light enough to throw and catch
if you’re good enough
(aim for the nose!),
a lesson in mechanics,
a sound, a shape, a pain
never to be forgotten
when you’ve stood over the abyss
and prayed it didn’t fail.