A small misstep, leg crashing through
Cleaved in half as the steam line breaks
The wrench slips, crossing phase to phase
…arc blast, molten metal
Blows your torso through
Toeboard kicks up, 90 feet drop
Into the yawning separator’s blades
When they swept you off of the furnace’s walls
They had to I.D. you by your keyring
Your final face, a mask of shock
…not even enough time to whimper
Your cranium caves in with an awful sound
The result of your fatal confusion
The doors to the factory, locked from the outside
…the burning stench of the seamstress’s flesh
Unsteady hands on the cutting torch
Cut the piece of angle, three fingers, too
Didn’t see the windsock blow
…chlorine gas fills your lungs
«That rigging’s seen better days»
Smashed prostrate by eighteen tons