BISCUIT FACTORY

Here one learns a new vocabulary

tinwash, tray off, mobcap,

swiping in and stacking down.

 

Some of us arrived for a month

one spring and stayed forever

like jaded nomads finding pasture,

needs met, horizons ending here.

 

In ghost-infested rooms

the newcomer gets lost, disorientated

by the sprawling tangle and pulse

of peculiar machinery

 

whose failings have produced

a grim, resilient folklore

and we endure its unexpected power

to mess with natural instincts

 

until we finally grow indifferent

while paying lip service

to the gods of health and safety.

 

 

Published in Algebra of Owls, September 2017