Posted on April 24, 2009 at 10:55pm
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Death of a Factory Worker
by Quasimofo Snyder
Two kids at home, one on the hijinx way,
the beatnik dry-docks with pretty ink black ap—
Gesture staves draught
in an air conned mint pepper rink; the pay’s
good for a fifty mile block—a fast food cap
past, flips more clout.
The bop of assembly, the be of boredom…
Saucy french stole the place in the 80’s—
louisiana purchase reneged;
dumb rum drunk in a monotone kingdom
punchin’…
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