Will Dockery wrote:
> General-Zod wrote:
>> Will Dockery wrote:
>
>> >> Passage Through Ennui
>>
>> >> 35 years ago
>> >> it was another
>> >> long bitter Summer
>> >> that dark humid July 1985.
>>
>> >> I was working
>> >> the graveyard shift
>> >> operating one of the service elevators
>> >> at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>>
>> >> Galatea and I
>> >> had split up again
>> >> earlier in the year
>> >> after our explosive reunion
>> >> in 1983.
>>
>> >> It ended quickly
>> >> after a huge fight
>> >> with her brother
>> >> over an old score
>> >> usually forgotten.
>>
>> >> I won the fight
>> >> but actually lost.
>> >> Tracy gave up
>> >> and Galatea left with him.
>>
>> >> The year
>> >> it all came apart
>> >> seemingly permanent.
>> >> Two years of good times
>> >> ended in a moonshine rage. .
>>
>> >> All I could see was
>> >> a shut down gloom.
>> >> The only laughter I heard
>> >> was down in the break room.
>>
>> >> The brown haze of factory air
>> >> angry faced people
>> >> and the music
>> >> of metal machines.
>>
>> >> Working all night
>> >> sleeping all day.
>> >> Sipping coffee
>> >> to chase the road aspirins.
>>
>> >> Sitting on the steps
>> >> over by a giant fan.
>> >> keeping up with my workers
>> >> usually five ladies
>> >> at the machines.
>>
>> >> If one of the ladies
>> >> needed anything
>> >> they'd just look my way
>> >> and wave.
>>
>> >> Several times a night
>> >> I'd make a buy and fly
>> >> bringing back coffee for them
>> >> on makeshift cardboard trays.
>>
>> >> Jotting down notes
>> >> doodling narratives
>> >> creating reality
>> >> building Shadowville
>> >> from the ground up.
>>
>> >> Riding my elevator
>> >> up and down
>> >> creating samizdat
>> >> in the smoking booth.
>>
>> >> Down to the Reel room
>> >> my elevator filled
>> >> with empty racks
>> >> to bring up the full ones
>> >> for the ladies upstairs.
>>
>> >> All night
>> >> keeping it rolling
>> >> making it smooth
>> >> for the ladies
>> >> to make production.
>>
>> >> Finally to clock out
>> >> as the sad whistle would blow
>> >> we would stumble out the gate
>> >> into the grey dawn.
>>
>> >> Some headed for breakfast
>> >> and a beer
>> >> while always I headed home
>> >> for sleep
>> >> as quickly as possible.
>>
>> >> Living at Mockingbird Court
>> >> where I had shared a trailer
>> >> with my friend Bob Whitman
>> >> an Army vet turned factory worker.
>>
>> >> Bob worked downstairs
>> >> at the Autoclave
>> >> the machine that steamed chemicals
>> >> into the yarn.
>>
>> >> Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
>> >> ran the huge Dryers
>> >> a super hot
>> >> chemical steam bath area.
>>
>> >> Jim married
>> >> my childhood friend Pamela
>> >> and passed away too soon
>> >> from a heart attack
>>
>> >> I'm not sure how workers
>> >> down there
>> >> survived the heat
>> >> and harsh smell.
>>
>> >> Actually
>> >> I noticed not so well
>> >> as years went by
>> >> several old friends
>> >> still haunt me.
>>
>> >> There was a guy named Bill
>> >> from Chicago
>> >> found in the Dryer room
>> >> coughing up blood from TB.
>>
>> >> Chip, another Autoclave man
>> >> was found
>> >> giggling in the warehouse
>> >> up in the bales of fiber
>> >> one line of meth too many.
>>
>> >> Little Rosell
>> >> on the Reels downstairs
>> >> hot little femme fatale
>> >> who I would know better later.
>>
>> >> An unteresting lady
>> >> in her Daisy Duke shorts
>> >> and "Flashdance" shirt
>> >> she was the supervisors' choice.
>>
>> >> Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
>> >> found in a hallway
>> >> died there of old age.
>>
>> >> The list goes on
>> >> many who did not survive
>> >> until the shut down day
>> >> another poem for another day.
>>
>> >> At that time of the night
>> >> with machines all running right
>> >> many of us could wander
>> >> have some coffee
>> >> and get some fresh air.
>>
>> >> Bob was a good friend
>> >> at the job
>> >> quick with a joke
>> >> or pass his pipe for a toke.
>>
>> >> Many smokers and drinkers
>> >> would hang out
>> >> on the porch
>> >> outside the Autoclave room.
>>
>> >> When he heard
>> >> of my latest domestic disaster
>> >> Bob offered
>> >> to rent me a room.
>>
>> >> In a rented room
>> >> in Bob's trailer
>> >> like a scene from The Odd Couple
>> >> without the laughs.
>>
>> >> The bottom fell out
>> >> we didn't get along
>> >> outside of the job
>> >> so I moved out
>> >> to North Highland.
>>
>> >> I moved in
>> >> next door to the Holt family
>> >> old school mill folk
>> >> in the former mill village.
>>
>> >> Don, Walter and Karen Holden
>> >> all worked at
>> >> Shadowville Spinning Mill
>> >> like their family before them.
>>
>> >> Karen worked in the supply room
>> >> Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
>> >> Don covered my job
>> >> during the say shift.
>>
>> >> For some reason
>> >> it was important to them
>> >> that they tell Mr. Newberry
>> >> that I was their cousin.
>>
>> >> I never did figure that out
>> >> but it was cool with me.
>> >> I liked them all
>> >> they were down to Earth folks.
>>
>> >> The day I moved in
>> >> I had my music playing loud
>> >> outside my window
>> >> was the river
>> >> and then Alabama.
>>
>> >> I would never have imagined
>> >> how that area would look now
>> >> with the row of houses demolished
>> >> and with the Riverwalk below.
>>
>> >> I was two floors up
>> >> but I still felt
>> >> like a mole
>> >> like a subterranean.
>>
>> >> Wake up
>> >> it was Monday
>> >> I could hear Billy Teakson
>> >> blowing his horn in his pickup truck
>> >> down below.
>>
>> >> Billy was an old school
>> >> Card and Blending room man
>> >> never late
>> >> sick or well he was on the job.
>>
>> >> Slither down the stairs
>> >> so far so good
>> >> jump in and ride on
>> >> the the alternate universe
>> >> the factory.
>>
>> >> He never failed
>> >> to have a spare Budweiser
>> >> and a smoke
>> >> for the short ride to
>> >> Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>>
>> >> We'd get there in time
>> >> to stand around the parking lot
>> >> and catch a few words
>> >> with the crew.
>>
>> >> Then the whistle would blow
>> >> and it was on your mark
>> >> sail through 12 hours of dream
>> >> in another land.
>>
>> >> Grabbed a cup of rotgut
>> >> mill coffee
>> >> and then
>> >> in a determined stroll.
>>
>> >> Up to the Bobbin Winders
>> >> and the upstairs Reels
>> >> to catch everything up quick
>> >> get the game going right.
>>
>> >> Then down the elevator
>> >> to the Spinning room
>> >> sweat shop
>> >> a dozen ladies
>> >> smoking and yelling conversations.
>>
>> >> Loud roaring
>> >> antique seeming machinery
>> >> all all points
>> >> no escape from
>> >> the chaos and thunder.
>>
>> >> Get it all caught up
>> >> then down to the sub basement
>> >> to pick up the prize left for me
>> >> by Don
>> >> my first shift doppelganger.
>>
>> >> Any time Don
>> >> skipped out early
>> >> and left everything
>> >> off the mark, it was no problem.
>>
>> >> He'd leave me a joint
>> >> at a certain spot
>> >> in the sub basement.
>>
>> >> The basement was
>> >> creepy enough
>> >> but the sub basement
>> >> seemed right out
>> >> of a horror movie.
>>
>> >> Needless to say
>> >> I'd keep my head down
>> >> and would try to get out
>> >> of the sub basement quickly.
>>
>> >> I had been distributing
>> >> my broadsheets
>> >> among my co-worker friends
>> >> news of the day
>> >> with a twist.
>>
>> >> They were entertained
>> >> by my poetry
>> >> and comic strips
>> >> looking for themselves
>> >> in the lines on paper.
>>
>> >> Pat, the personnel director
>> >> called me in her office
>> >> and put the kibosh
>> >> on my broadsheet.
>>
>> >> My poetry and art zine
>> >> had violated the strict
>> >> "No Distribution" policy
>> >> that no outside reading
>> >> was permitted inside the mill gates.
>>
>> >> Since I had not been
>> >> aware of this policy
>> >> I apologized
>> >> and kept the broadsides
>> >> outside the gates from then on.
>>
>> >> Absolutely
>> >> no foreknowledge
>> >> of what was coming next
>> >> taking one minute at a time.
>>
>> >> Getting from one minute
>> >> to the next
>> >> always in a hurry
>> >> caught up in the time
>> >> flashing by.
>>
>> >> Not even giving a damn
>> >> or so I told myself
>> >> by that point in time
>> >> hoping for a speedy turnabout.
>>
>> >> I never could have foreseen
>> >> twenty years later in 2005
>> >> standing in a crowd
>> >> watching the old mill in flames
>>
>> >> I was living
>> >> in the worn out townhouse
>> >> at 3226 River Avenue
>> >> once part of a mill village.
>>
>> >> First week of the month
>> >> was always annoying
>> >> so much noise
>> >> as I tried to sleep.
>>
>> >> All day hearing Mr. Newberry
>> >> beating on the sides
>> >> of the houses with his cane
>> >> trying to collect his rent money.
>>
>> >> Alone
>> >> in my upstairs office
>> >> writing my manifesto
>> >> in poetry and comic strips.
>>
>> >> Right side duplex
>> >> next door to the Holden family.
>> >> Two stories overlooking
>> >> the dark green Chattahoochee.
>>
>> >> If I had the foresight
>> >> I would know sitting and waiting
>> >> was wasting precious time
>> >> the cruelty of moments.
>>
>> >> Time can't be saved
>> >> like in a bank.
>> >> I thought I was biding my time
>> >> while I was losing everything.
>>
>> >> As the North Highland
>> >> sun blazed down.
>> >> And as the cool white moon
>> >> seemed to watch over it all.
>>
>> >> The big rooms
>> >> and empty house
>> >> suited my mood
>> >> my lonesome and blue.
>>
>> >> Looking out my upstairs window
>> >> dabbling on a canvas
>> >> not a clue
>> >> what was to come.
>>
>> >> Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
>> >> for a beer and some smokes
>> >> the place is long gone now
>> >> 35 years later.
>>
>> >> Back then it was
>> >> the general store
>> >> where the locals stood around
>> >> shooting the breeze.
>>
>> >> Although relatively close
>> >> the walk was winding
>> >> to get around
>> >> the far side of the factory.
>>
>> >> Found a girl named Margo
>> >> she lived
>> >> a few doors down
>> >> from my place.
>>
>> >> She said she liked my music
>> >> but had thought Bob Dylan's song
>> >> was The Clash
>> >> but I found her naivete charming.
>>
>> >> Took her out and played the game
>> >> but my heart
>> >> just wasn't in it
>> >> I never saw Margo again
>> >> after that night.
>>
>> >> At that time all seemed lost
>> >> just goes to show
>> >> I'm not much of a fortune teller
>> >> but kept hope alive.
>>
>> >> Many nights seemed like others
>> >> so I trudged
>> >> through the days
>> >> wrote poetry
>> >> through the night.
>>
>> >> Crossed my heart
>> >> and looked forward
>> >> to good luck
>> >> and happy days again.
>>
>> >> No happy ending
>> >> was expected
>> >> in the foreseeable future
>> >> just more of the same.
>>
>> >> -Will Dockery
>>
>> >> ------------------------------
>> >> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> >> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>>
>> >> ***
>>
>>
>> > Outstanding narrative/confessional poetry offering today....
>
> Thanks again, Zod, although the resident trolls NancyGene and Pendragon will no doubt disagree.

Like I sez that's hilarious coming from Nancy G. who is a no-talent stalker troll, and Michael Penhead, a delusional little fuckwit who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot... ha ha.

"Tear in your eye."