Toothpaste

Toothpaste
by Kristin Garth, Regular Contributor

A twist of torso atop rusted bench,
the hobbled man travels his inch to screw
a cap of plastic tight. Each wind a wince
when furrows bite into a curlicue
of blisters — the forefinger, thumb. Sometimes
he uses the other ones on left hand
insufficient to meet demand. Mealtime
will be a sad affair, the cabbage pan
of soup too shallow to share with parents,
in-laws, the spouse and son. Payment is per
cap when the day is done. Perseverance
means pristine tubes of the highest numbers
produced. Damaged digits you brush from mind
atop a creaking bench ten hours you wind.