On the Factory Floor
by g.a.costa
a teen fell into the industrial
meat grinder, for our hungry
mouths that churn and chew
and spit our young onto epoxy-
coated concrete, our bellies
never satisfied, demanding more,
an ever-expanding hunger. We
believe in perpetual economic growth.
So we ask him, if he could please
cover the graveyard shift, because
another fell in the bread mixer, found
this morning. We’ll send parents bread
at the funeral, but he doesn’t answer,
already dissolved into the wet
splash of bucket and mop.
We’ll give his family a lifetime
supply of our signature frozen burritos.
We’ve fed billions.
We’ll feed billions more.
g.a.costa was born and raised in southern California. After college, she moved to Korea and has been there for about a decade. She’s published some stories and poems in indie journals, such as Schlock! Webzine and Jolly Horror Press. She spends her free time writing stories, poetry, and taking long walks through the rice fields with her husband. Find her at cgacosta.weebly.com.
