Fondue in an Alternator Factory

Fondue in an Alternator Factory
by quasimofo

  ..the woman with the beautiful brown eyes and unclaspable necklace \
  flirts with my alarm bleeps 
                                 10 minutes till real time
            after the shag stagger coffee morn vanilla 
                                         5           sugar       spoons..                    gulped..
          the clothes lose their balance     in     a        bagel hole                     
                                               hanging in  dim dawn dwelling’s
                                                                   last lynchings—
     the era has many errors giving                    70’s guitar-rock riffs
                                true/false multiple        testimony       of         a  
          mile’s         drive       clambered      trudge
                          to       an indentured           clock.
          me  swiped   a   caricature with       numbers    non-numbered..
                            rolls whisks whizzes strolls     
                                   against moving racks of regulator rectifiers
                    stator rotor diodes pulleys air wrench presses 
                          tons of aluminum
                                                      miles of the piles..
                                                                on the conveyer 
                                                       ready for packaging         
                                                              reluctant redneck supervisors 
                drawl their   depts.       of         laborers:
                               spitting whelpkin  temps  the lifers    the retired part-timers..
an old senorita          wears        perfume         in          summer       mingling   steam,
    some born-again   alcoholics    lay    down   dollars   with the  bookies,
                      and lager-head  yanks  speak eloquent    stories         while
            smokers       and     washed-up-n-down dieters              corner 
the                                                       pyramid schemers  ..     a self-proclaimed 
                               asshole          ex-minister                   says
                                                  “if you only knew me..”
which seems to whisper                   like  a         slow       leak   tire
                   brought  to    right       with      a  cigarette air pump 
                                             every afternoon living after the whistle..
                       we might          be          in         this            to        gether
                                     if the        on-the-side musician 
                                              can get paid          more  than the  cost of gas..
                 a 2000’s       mission    statement     might infer        
        you belong to us and the emancipation proclamation  is  just     
                   another way of converting mechanical habit into electrical energy..
      ’s all honest work        for    poor       people       who believe      justice
     as long    as there’s      discounts..
                              As      they        puff their   hammers        on        sinews        made
 from snack vendors,,,,,,,,               the           new               lights                
                                         casts            molds        sorts    on        
the     creation       that        ever           catches     space 
                                      it’s      meant           for..
        some ends meet    where there’s  refurbished meat, ..
                   i wipe my   feet of tiny metal parts fallen  into shoes,    …
but oh    oh    god      the   wo  man 
         with   t he   beaut i  ful   brow n e yes an d
      un clasp able neck   lace      
                                               tells me    
                                                         she loves me
                                                                                    30 years,..
                                i       wipe the dust   and       ask:
                                                                              “What’s an alternator?”           

0 thoughts on “Fondue in an Alternator Factory

  1. You’re a genius. Do you spew, or do you rewrite? I bet you put 34 times the energy into your poems than I do mine. This is my favorite of yours so far. Love the parts about the drinkers and smokers and the pyramid schemers. I really, really like the ending too, the imagery of wiping dust. bravo!

  2. Thanks! This one did go thru a lot of revision (after considerable spewing)…one of those you have grand ideas for and it kinda fizzles…but you leave it alone for a while and later it takes on new life. I wanted to do a Frank O’Hara ‘impure poetry’ take-off listing sequence of events with guts of life in-between…though much of poem ended up being ‘character sketch’ at this real alternator factory i worked a year and a half.
    i worked in tear-down section of plant and came out every day covered in soot and sweat…managed to break down 180 alternators an hour one day which was record…mostly to just feel like a badass or something; there was some machismo involved here; or maybe just exorcising of demons; little bit of everything i suppose.
    Girl with brown eyes was a worker there who i was in love with and day-dreamed about. 5 years prior we had worked together at a sandpaper plant across town. I came into work one day and she asked me to help her fasten a necklace she could not clasp…which brought me into close proximity and just stuck in my mind forever. Anyway, i ramble. thanks for comments

  3. Q!
    Let’s have lunch Astral Plane and talk, and I can hear more, and you can hear more too. I so appreciate the response you have to my writing. The more of yours I read/see the parallel thought forms in common become more outrageously apparent. Juxtaposition of unlike elements, daily surreality, perspective rarely surveyed with fascination by other beings… “They” consider the view as calamity, disaster, or fever dreaming at the least. Me, I don’t wanna wake up – neither do you! I’d love to be able to make contact on this physical plane somehow. Where can we exchange info of that nature? Tag, you’re “it” Hint:

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