Pumped, a sonnet

You inspire deep inbreath 

that I express in breathing out 

Not out of breath in death 

But finding life in moving about.

Grease is necessary for the joints 

The cutting of grooves for tires 

Movement needs what oil anoints 

but without friction there aren’t fires. 

Staging a comeback for being gone 

Seems to be the right thing to want 

The first hurrah is the day’s dawn 

That the afternoon will not taunt. 

Rev the engine, pull the lever

This last call is for now or never.