no plan

when we
worked in the factory
down along the river, we were
happy.

happy to have a job, a paycheck
every other Friday.

the soot filled the air,
singed our lungs, our hands
were never clean,
cuts that never healed.

we never got the grease or
grime out
of ears, our mouths.

we coughed as we ambled
down the gravel road,
through the wired gates
to the pub
where we drank
and chased
the women that wanted
to be chased.

it was hard money. but we were
happy.

we were young and had no plan,
other than
to get paid,
to find love, or something
that resembled love,
and to get out of
this town.