Poetry

White

2 Comments 14 November 2011

So you lost your job

At the white factory.

White walls, white linoleum kitchenette

With the white Frigidaire

That stored the sandwich your wife had made:

White bread, Virginia ham, spicy mustard

For that little kick to your afternoon.

The machine has done you in.

The one you believed in all along.

The machine — a simple weighing device

Designed to hold what you’ve earned on one scale

And the just balance of the universe on the other.

And now you’re beginning to wonder,

How could this have happened?

- who has written 15 posts on The Shade.


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2 Comments so far

  1. T.W. Snicket says:

    Congratulations. Once you learn to dive into the water the only obvious next step is to see how high of a board you can dive off.

  2. Norman Orlando says:

    Ew! I hate mustard!


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