The Factory

I was twelve when I was shipped off to the factory.
I will never forget the sickly sweet smell.
That consumed me when I walked through the doors.
The scent of surrender.
Mixed with smug satisfaction.
Made me choke and want to cry.

I was greeted by thousands of people.
Stretched as far as the eye could see.
Wearing gray uniforms.
Perched on steel stools.
Calloused bloody hands.
Pulling rusty levers.
Over and over and over again.
Staring at me with dead sunken eyes.
Singing their chant.

Work is good.
Work is pure.
Work is what we do.
We love work.
We love life.
We love what we do.

A lavish ballroom.
With a maroon marble floor.
And black onyx pillars.
Stood like an altar to some unholy god.
In the middle of the industrial hellscape.

It reeked of lavender, lotion, and rot.

It was covered in handsome men in suits.
And beautiful women in gowns.
They danced a waltz.
Sipped cocktails.
Fucked each other.
Leered out and laughed.
Wiped tears from their eyes.
Pissed on the dead factory workers.
That were stacked in piles around the floor.

A lady in a black dress called for me to join her.

So I did.

She punched me in the stomach.
Spat her drink into my eyes.
Sneered through her teeth.

Your tender little hands.
Will produce so much.
Now get to work, little boy.

So I did.

I’ve lived in the factory since that day.
There is always more work to do.
Maybe one day you’ll come visit.
And watch me work the levers.
Mindlessly pull them.
Fill the pallets.
So many endless pallets of shit.

At night, we fight like rats over stale crusty bread.
You can watch us kill each other for a dollar.
And huff industrial grease to get high.

I’ve forgotten my mother’s face.
I don’t dream anymore.
I sob myself to sleep.

The factory system is the way of the world.
The bosses say we should be grateful.
We have a purpose.
We are producers.
We are the lucky ones.

I am thinking of jumping into the machine.
It would pulverize my bones.
Grind me to a paste.
Boil away my blood.
And I would smile.
Knowing I would end up on a pallet.
On a truck.
Out to the hillside.
Where the plants and animals.
Soak in the sunshine.
And still know the feeling of joy.