the night shift

you get used

to the noise first, then the smell

of the factory.

but it's a job.

your only fear

besides losing

a hand

is not having that paycheck

at the end

of two weeks.

it's not war, but it feels

like combat

of some sort.

in the trenches with like

minded men

and women

on the night shift.

it's the welding,

torches ablaze,

machinery

in heat needing grease.

the clang

of metal.

pipes and wrenches that

you'll hear

when the sun rises

and at last you sleep.

it's the mindless grind of it all.

the grunt,

the pull and tug of the factory wheel.

but you don't complain,

you say

nothing, you're at peace

with your hammer,

and the sandwich

that you brought to 

to work

in a bag

may be the best thing

you've ever eaten.