Working in the Rust Belt
Timecards standing loosely, at parade rest.
The formations arranged alphabetically
Waiting quietly for the tell-tale sounds
Of heavy work-boots shuffling sleepily
Across a cement floor that has carried many
Though now carries so few that spiders hardly notice.
Outside of the factory the sun still sleeps
Ignoring those who rise in confused darkness.
They don their chambray shirts and pack lunches
Kissing their slumbering loved ones softly.
Driving through streets once teeming with life
They pray that their timecards are still waiting.
In a paneled office above the factory floor
A weary spider looks for an adequate hiding place
As many women and men in suits begin to file in.
If he could understand them he would soon know
Life down on the floor will be getting much better.
Soon he and his eight-legged brothers will own the place.
Dan Allawat lives in South Florida where he is enrolled in an MFA program. His work has appeared in Dead Mule, Skyline Literary Magazine, Flashquake, and others.