Speed Lunch
written by: Michael Ball
@whirred
Cotton-mill workers do not stroll.
Half hour to get home from Ellis Street
stoke enough fuel for the vigor
for a non-stop half a work shift.
Parodying cotton’s softness, the mill air,
is a snow globe, wafting silent storms.
All about is a two-color joke.
White fibers will bring brown lung.
At noon, the quick meal is part of work-life.
No time for hippy mindfulness or nicety,
Instead they make a muddle,
Each worker brutalizes the food, let’s say
pulled pork, rice, string beans simmered gray.
using the side of the fork as a tool
to make a hash, or rather a swamp.
Ever so quickly, the foods merge into one.
That mixing complete, the actual task
of eating is efficiently done.
They double-step back to the mill.
Michael Ball scrambled from daily and weekly papers through business and technical pubs. Satisfaction and feeling like a writer came through blogging and podcasting, mostly political. Born in OK and raised in rural WV, he became more citified in Manhattan and Boston. He joined the Hyde Park Poets Workshop two years ago, and will never again write a manual or help system. He has moderate success placing poems in print and online.
Latest posts by Michael Ball (see all)
- Betrayal - September 10, 2024
- Granddad’s Gift - June 15, 2024
- Circles Everywhere - April 19, 2024
