One Layer Less

Rust. Again.
Time to pull out the steel brush,
wiry bristles and old wooden handle,
pull it out and go to work,
a familiar task, a bit of force,
not too much as you roughly remove
another layer, and another,
slowly getting to the steel,
the shiny stuff, the strong.
Keeping at it, making sure
the last of the rust is peeled away.
And there you are, strong again,
but another layer less, wondering
how many layers you have less.

About this poem

About steel and rust. About fighting depression or any of our inner battles. About aging.

Inspired by a patch of rust on my Jeep. I need to get to work.

The picture was taken at an abandoned marble mine.

Tom