Maintenance Man

Your breathing rakes leaves of air
into a green metal scratching sound on concrete.
Rattling inside you is a steady oscillating tool, loose screw.
Or perhaps you are mopping
the flooding blood. Damn kids,
you mumble through a dream, plugging the faucets again,
the pipes, my lungs.

I watch your nightly maintenance – sighing, snoring. Deep hums
that snake your body, unclogging
the daily disappointment of being alive.
I want to unscrew your mouth, fix the dripping sounds
but when I get too close, I brush into bones
strung around your perimeter like trip wire.