K: Assembling

There was only Juan and K on the floor
when it happened. To keep his job Juan lied,
swearing blind he'd heard zip, not been struck by
screams like gas leaks under his blow torch roar.
Two hot clear shards off the circular saw
buried themselves snugly, one in each eye.
K pitched on dumb feet, assembled a cry
while Juan knelt deafly at a hatchback's door.

"Always wear goggles," Juan would tell his lad,
Jose, before his first metal work class.
If he'd got treated sooner, so the doc
said, K might have kept his sight. He was sad
as they were removing the windscreen glass;
he'd never see it wink like quartz in rock.