Fuel

The memories come flooding in
Like an engine revved too much.
The scent of diesel fuel
At the setting of the sun,
An end to a day of hard work,
Which hardly no one does anymore
And will never get the privilege to do.

Because there's something about
Putting heart into labor,
And succeeding at the end of the day,
Even if no one notices.
It's equipment and equilibrium,
Effort and eulogies,
That's what I celebrate.

But it's more,
It's two-stroke engine oil burning,
By the efforts made to provide fun.
An adventure into the sunset,
A different way to the end the day,
Burned into yesteryear
Like a brand on cattle.

It can't be forgotten,
Even if no one understands
The gold in fuel when the sun dies
And resurrects with the work day,
Or a man who's offering was work
And passed on the spirit he lost. 

© 2023 Loly Rinn
Photo by Christopher Burns on Unsplash