Spark

Nick’s job consisted of him sweeping,
sweeping out the base of deep deadpool wells,
The sickly smell of freshly processed sugar clinging to his clothing, as the months passed, that smell slowly becoming a part of him.

Each push of the industrial sized broom was a scraping whoosh of a prayer that there would be no spark,
No ignition for the compacted sugar bomb beneath his feet.

Nick knew of the danger in his sickly sweet life,
So, on February 4, 2008 he quit his job.

Here I am, sitting in awe that such things can happen to people.
When such luck appears, I attribute it to perfect timing and charisma,
but these things really do not mirror the morbid timbre of the situation.

I guess it can be said that sometimes divine things happen to ordinary people.