he works in a factory
just like his father and his father’s father did.
he went to college, got a degree in English Lit,
couldn’t find a decent paying, prestigious job.
makes more operating a whining machine
that punches holes in metal incessantly.
dreams of becoming a famous writer,
writes books at night.
believes he has it in him to write a bestseller
that will be made into a blockbuster movie.
his books keep getting rejected by publishers
one editor wrote, “don’t quit your day job.”
he inhales the foul-smelling factory air,
suppresses the feelings of failure
and dreams of another life.
but feels trapped in the factory,
like his father and his father’s father did.
maybe factory work in his blood
and he can’t get it out.
bob boyd
Author: BobBoyd
79, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride my exercise bike 2 hours daily. Began writing poetry October 2023, living in Greensboro, North Carolina, originally from just outside of Boston, MA.
Retired and enjoying a solo, reclusive life always researching and gaining knowledge. Most of my poems are fictional.
I write about many things: Spirituality, Mysticism, the Paranormal, Cryptids, Werewolves, Ghosts, 411s, Nature, Birds, Animals, Romantic Love, Death, NDEs, Women Persecuted as Witches, Fictional Characters I Create, News Stories, AI, Robots, Insects, like the poem entitled, Hail Caesar Bob, (about when bees were swarming me outside the door to my apartment), and many other topics. I write a minimum of 3 poems daily, sometimes more. I like and abide by the saying life's too short to be taken too seriously.
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