We are the monkeys
They train our brains
Yet they discourage us from exercising our minds
I work in a linear world
Where everything is symmetrical
I am surrounded by boxes; cold, hard and gray
The only sign of life here is the unfortunate insect
Scurrying desperately for a haven
There are no flowers here, or trees
Nor any breeze in which they may sway
Here punch in is at 3:25
Here start time is 3:30
Shift end is at 2am
Breaks are 5:30, 8, 10:30 and 12:30
Here we build 13 racks
96 inches from end to end
102 square from corner to corner
Drawing long corner in one eighth
Weld here, here, here, here and here
Chip it, check it, stamp it
Move it along
Here we get angry with our tools
And machines if something goes wrong
We liken them to streetwalkers
Calling our hammers sluts
And our welding machines whores and worse
Here "fuck" is the popular prefix
And the choice adjective to just about everything
Here everybody is "bastard"
Even the closest colleague
Here my brain works in automatic
But my mind wanders to thoughts of you
Smiles cross my face as memories become manifest
My body labours but I am not here
I am with you, and the open air,
And a cold beer, with children laughing
Here I sit in the lunchroom
Reading books without pictures
While the others grunt
And scratch their heads
And point at items
In the Canadian Tire catalogue
Still others suck on cigarettes
Spilling coffee
Talking about cars and hooters
And other manly things
They burp and they fart without flinching
Digging their pants out of their asses
As they meander back to work
We beat our racks mercilessly
Scolding them if they are more than five eighths out of square
My body labours but I am not here
Among the monkeys
I am with you, and an open fire, and sweet wine,
With children sleeping
I wrote this poem in May of 2000. It deals with the
frustration and effects of an industrialized plant setting
on the creative mind. Please feel free to provide the
poet with some feedback, thanks.
tomhopwood@hotmail.com.