The First Deal

He’s sharp now, oh yes. I found him in the old woodshed, among spongy fragments of wounded trees. And he was wounded too, he was dying, but slowly. He was too sad to see, all covered in slime and black, so I tenderly raised him up, all the way up, until I could smell base, certain, fucking metal. We made a deal: I’d bring him back to life if he’d join me. So I scraped the muck away and brushed his head, dried him down, sanded and polished while the rain dripped through jagged gaps in corrugated iron. I ground his rough patches away til he glimmered and sang. Now he’s sharp. It took me hours, I feel so terribly exhausted but we made a deal, didn’t we? It’s time to go back to the house.