Whittening

i Whittening

Back, forth, round,
back, forth, round,
back, forth, round.

Sharper than you have ever been
almost unseemly, a return to ride
my spine; raised to grate against,
not with, your cutting edge.

Stung with sweat, calcified rasp,
vertebrae fused as impenetrable
range; Pennine backbone stands,
proud, to your need.

Back, forth, round,
back, forth, round,
back, forth, round.

ii Grindstone

Dry whistle, wheeze, through grit caked teeth,
parched tongues, grey lungs sang a quarryman's span.

Cisterns, troughs, held promise of water,
flags, for new Parliament, caps for a post.

Sea trade flakes of skin and sputum,
grindstones crushed far more than corn.

Blade city, built with sweat, sand stone,
birthed on the edge of a tool pouch bulge.

Sagacity gleams, in fine shined dining,
polished on backs, hunched, sharp, poor.

Ashlar faced, coarse hands are the whetstones;
Freestone's grade, hewn in life's cost.

Back, forth, round,
back, forth, round,
back, forth, round.