Good men are slaves
to a system
that has them
trying to stay strong,
trying to pay rent,
to feed moms,
and their children.

They do the wrong thing
because they need money
for food, cloths, shelter
for car insurance,
for maintenance, and
for medical emergencies.

So, the goodness,
We would like to see
gets buries out of
necessity.

Kind hands
become calloused tools
and the hardworking man
dies at the plant,
were other good men
are struggling the same
with some minor variations.

He smokes. Lips pull thin white clouds of relief into his lungs but when he is done he will head back in to the dark den of machine men. There used to be better days. Now strange alchemy has turned his soft body hard, smooth skin wrinkled, white teeth cracked and yellow, and soul into a mutilated mess. The fence vibrates with his passing frustration as one foot cracks the corner. Would have been a ****** mess if not for the tight steel toed shoes, that add about half a pound a piece. His fatigue weighs so much more. A heaviness stops him at the door. It is like he is walking in a world of gravity set at twice the normal rate. Safety goggles, lunch lady hair net, and ear plugs have become his nighttime uniforms.
“Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.” He recites like Dustin Hoffman’s rain man.
The mechanical madness beckons him in with a thud da dud, thud da dud, thud da dud.
“At least it is a midnight shift and not a hot summer day shift.” He thinks as he shrugs off the last remnants of his reservations.

Weird yellow lines mark
the grey sparkling floor.
Lighter grey garage doors
roll open to export more
manufactured goods.

Plastic particulates
plaster the yellow painted
blocking fences that
keeps fumbling fools
from stumbling through.

Yellow metal monstrosities
powered by small black batteries
chase their own blue lights
seeming super sentient
with an electric consciousness.
They beep hard backing up
and plowing forward
with packed boxes of
clear plastic cups
coming from the factory floor.

Smokers come and go
in and out of
the glass double door
in a blur of blue hats
lunch lady hairnets
earplugs and safety glasses
ending the day
exhausted and underpaid.

So here I wait

Waiting for what seemed like ever

In a room just as equally boring and lifeless as the floor design

It was a grey concrete slab... With a tarnished boot-scuff finish

Almost as foreboding as the fifteen or more empty chairs that had surrounded me

The coffee stand adjacent to me is a drunk!

It could barely stand on it's own two feet

"Clearly the obvious choice for human example" I thought to myself

What a surprise that we should me in a place so...  "Quaint?"

I'm simply Gushing with delight--Or maybe boredom

I haven't yet decided

In the corner there was a sailboat, that I had missed at first glance

(Perhaps the most well defined specimen of us all)

Dressed in what must have been the finest craftsmanship!
--Which was duly noted by the sneakers...

That stood awkwardly to the side of it

It seemed as though none of us there truly belonged but just as I had reached waning attention--

NEXT!

My workday had begun