Friday, October 23, 2009

The Tour

by Michael Grover

It was a cold gray day,
The warehouse stood in front of us
Like a monster
Waiting to consume us.

Before entering we stopped.
The beautiful red haired woman
Told us there was not a lot of money,
And the union would take some of that.
We all stayed so we entered.
Passed through the security.

At the door a worker stood.
Once the guides were out of range
He told us to turn back while we still can.
My financial state
Would not allow me to debate this,
So I walked on.

Inside there were boxes
Flying everywhere
Going different places.
We listened as they explained
What was happening
And pretended to be interested.

At the end of the tour
They called us each individually.
The red head called me last.
She asked why I wanted to work here.
I told her I was a writer that needed an income.
She asked me if I had done physical labor.
I said I had dug ditches on a pipe crew
In the Florida heat,
And I was an electrician's apprentice.
She handed me a card
Told me to think about it.
Then call for a final interview.

I passed back through security.
Was spat back out of the beast.
Back into the streets.
I bought a tomato to make a salad.
Thought about the cardIf I should call.
I passed the mission on the way home.
Desperate men sittin’ on the curb out front.
People in the lobby trying to get in for the night
Out of the cold.
I saw my future there.
Said to myself,
“Yes, I should call.”

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