Monday finds me as automatic
click awakes me.
All the attire was proper:
Blue jumpsuit, nametag, hard-hat.
But it was the wrong factory
In a chronic cancellation of
whatyacall reality.
The need to become myths and Shakespeare,
transcending steel-box coffee mugs with
Tim&Tom&Jim&John.
Amongst the misfired springs on
assembly room floors,
unfurled and waiting to be collected, I stand,
punch-card in hand.
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