All is noise

Every frequency, from the low

To the shrill

The lights are white and harsh

The light itself seems tired

The floor is always cement and

Always stained with oil and dirt

Everything seems worn down

Patched over, made up, done

The air conditioner, a whistle

There is banging, slamming,

Clanging, thumping, buzzing,

Humming, beeping, metal on

Metal, metal on flesh, metal

On plastic, over and over and

All night long and all day long

The radios crackle, meaningless

Buttons pushed unknowingly

Indicator lights blink mindlessly

The parts roll off conveyors,

Are stacked, pallet by pallet,

Taken away by forklifts as

Dirty as everything else,

Belching clouds of fuel stink

Out their backsides, over to

Bay doors where big trucks

Come and take them away


This is the sound of money

Being made, but not for us

We are just part of the machinery

We are just another resource

We will be used up and thrown

Away someday too

Parts of a great engine spitting

Out pieces in a greater engine

On top of which sit people that

We’ve never met and never will

Everything is a work in progress.

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