an old brick building
on an old brick walk.
i can smell the friction
of grinding metal gears.
it smells like grease and sweat
bled from the pores.
there is resistance
but it won’t come for some time.

for now, this shoe will do.
this wooden shoe.
sabot, the cross of my people
welcoming salvation
from the sins of industry.

sabotage, we were
once bitter lovers.
now the machines

will wear our splinters.