GRIT

Grit

you call it grit

and the world applauds

grittiness in a child

but i see the callouses

that fill my hands once soft

and my heart once tender

now lined only in this

need for grit

the fire whose embers threaten

death at any moment i

blow to life over and again

till my cheeks ache from all the puffing

in winters grey while stood for the bus

in summers rain dressed in glad rags

soaking and wishing for the

prickling sun of equator lands

the embers must stay lit

so i keep on with grit

expertly concealing the

callouses on my mind

to hear the thunderous applause

when i step up for the next award.