Periodically, pension off memories
From assembly-lines,

And shuffle them into greeting cards.

The principal characters of your stories have forgotten their lines,

The audience’s faces have begun to tighten in barely restrained dismay,

The stage hands have all clocked out and de-unionized.

Strobe lights bounced off walls,

Painting obscenities along the corridors,

Redeeming friendship coupons.

Jumeirah listed as a deductible on the paycheck.

Lifeguard towers are cozy.

Almost enough to atone the wagon ride.

Not the front door,

Not the Gas station shoplifts,

Not the Construction-site Hand-jobs,

The In-utero tempest.

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2 thoughts on “Industries of sorrow 

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