The Endless Line

“Faster,” they tell me

“More cuts. More speed.”

Grueling conditions

brought on by greed

A job, they tell me

That’s what I need

I have three children

I’ve got to feed

Kill chickens, they say

As fast as you can

14,000 a day

by my own hands

The line’s too fast

I can’t keep up

My fingers bleed

from all the cuts

My hands ache

My arms are sore

But every day,

they demand more

Imelda complained

ICE broke down her door

So I keep my mouth shut

on the slaughterhouse floor

Written November 9, 2018