Janitors
People rush and hustle,
Mopping with gloved hands, tools of steel,
Wiping away blood and sweat from the floor,
Scrubbing the metal, blades, and hooks,
Sponges damp like the weight of sacrifice.
The work ends with a final cut,
Leaving the factory restored,
But the air thick with the scent of iron,
Machines hum like the march of the willing,
Tanks rise like the flag of duty,
Until the stench of labor fades.
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