We are calloused puppets of trade
in this factory life
having been victimized.
One can hear harrowing clicks
and cries.
Stumbling in proportion to dogs fighting,
a low tonal growl.
Work begins at six AM.
as thunder fills the city.
A washing of the disabled.
Ambling like a turbine
only a bit off sync.
Wings are bitten at the shoulders.
Feet tip to the uncontrollable
sequences of reflection.
© 1984 Sonja J. Phinney
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