This poem was a tricky revision. It has an additional three beginning lines, but I wanted it to fit for a contest about rust. Which worked well as the ending image. This is truly Daily 40 and the first lines are
The oldest man drinks quick sips
Of the Ebony’s night poison
hoping that the meager amounts
wouldn’t accumulate in the soft organ tissue.
But the tricky gray emotions
Would trickle up from the bog’s soil
Building in the heartier parts
of the man’s main pump--causing rust.