Blue Collar Blues

 
i’ve got the blue collar blues
still, even tho’
i’m lower mid now

it all feels manual
like a noise-filled factory
clamping down
churning out

grease deep under my nails
blood thick with diesel
a ram-rod for a spine

it feels like
my eyes & hands are drinking in
more than my soul can take

ass holes of the world unite!
lay your multitudinous wrists
on the tracks of the few
& let that slow pig of death
chug across your future

but that’s romanticising
the mendacity of it all
the long sigh of the echoes
of the tired centuries
turn boredom into lies every time

& those death moans die
whispering on the new polluted breeze
of the stink of progress
the death of simplicity
the starch in the collar
& the underpaid futility of it all