The civilized factory--box walls
Concrete floors covered in shiny tile
And faux wood sections
Delineated with action alleys
Where the worker ants scurry
The irony of the baron matron
Suffering the purgatory of refilling
Fuzzy sleepers
Rumba tights
And fifty varieties of diapers.
Rack after rack, pallet after pallet
She relives the lack of her bundle of joy.
The occasionally medicated psycho
Who plays with her smokes
And inhales so deeply her lungs show
Like a red jacket in a black and white movie.
She switches departments
As often as
Her mood swings.
The camouflaged ones who try to blend in
But always stand out
Dropping off-handed comments like feed sacks
That ring of casual conversation
But on rethinking resonance
With warning alarms that too many
Parents, principals, presidents should have Listened to.
Blue collard shirts living the truth that
The company is king and family is second
Just as Kentucky’s miners lived
Associates spend their paychecks lunch by lunch
Working day by day
Waiting for break to be called on the loudspeaker.
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