The Catch
The street sits in the early morning
shallows, the birds mutter insignificances
subtly, as the world gnaws at workers’
consciousnesses, the consequence of choice,
the infinite web of potential regret.
The stilled street is regrettable for its quiet,
workers never want to leave their houses
to enter factories where they will be held
all day to earn their pay, as everything
must be paid for, there is no other way.
The factory sits on the edge of the highway,
emanating fear and that metallic smell of cogs,
the sense that each worker must perform
his duty, or else pay the penalty of his
livelihood: penury, a fate worse than death.
At the end of the day, the work-place siren
sounds its final wailing, and workers celebrate
quietly in their cars driving home, with loan
and credit card payments all in hand, until
the next morning’s drive through the gloaming.