Conveyor
I replaced a defective mechanical arm once
on the night shift at the Bird’s Eye factory
in Eastbourne, England.
The arm swept the green beans from the main chute into side conveyors
where ladies wearing hair nets
separated the good beans from the bad.
It was the top conveyor,
so I was in full view of the workers below
as I moved my arm back and forth
sweeping beans in a poor imitation of a mechanical arm.
My fellow student workers threw beans at me
and the ladies in hair nets shouted “get a move on, Paddy”;
my name isn’t ‘Paddy’
but that’s what English people called Irish people back then.
Time moved like molasses
time dragged its feet like a moody teenager
time passed like a wet Sunday in Belfast
On the way home in the early morning,
we stole milk bottles from doorsteps,
just because we could.
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I love everything about the tale you are telling here….and most especially the last two stanzas. You’ve made the scene live by your words. Here in Boston, there was a time when want ads in the paper included the words “Irish need not apply.” I hadn’t though about that in years. That line about milk bottles on the doorsteps tells us this occurred some years ago!
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Thanks Lilian, glad you liked it…yes it’s a while since I’ve been a student, this would be early seventies.
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Ah, the good old days. I bet that milk tasted cold and delicious.
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Like all things you get for free!!
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What a great tale you tell in this poem. Well done.
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Thank you, much appreciated!
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/Time passed like a wet Sunday in Belfast/–lovely internal rhyme. This kind of tale might lend itself to the Haibun form
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Thank you for your always insightful comments, Glenn….yes a halibun might work with this or similar material…although I had a bout of tanka’s and haiku recently and I’m giving those forms a rest for a while! JIM
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Those milk bottles were delicious. Love the retelling of those carefree days. Time moving like molasses stanza stood out for me.
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Thanks Grace…I was trying for a more prose style to tell the story..with outbreaks of poetry..JIM
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I like the way you’ve conveyed the monotony of a conveyor belt (!) and working on the night shift. I’ve never worked in a factory but I can imagine what it’s like, Jim. Fancy replacing a mechanical arm, though! I love the phrases:
‘Time moved like molasses
time dragged its feet like a moody teenager
time passed like a wet Sunday in Belfast’.
Didn’t most night workers steal their morning cereal milk from doorsteps back in the day?
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Thanks Kim….it was there in plain sight!
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Nice descriptions of time: “Time moved like molasses
time dragged its feet like a moody teenager
time passed like a wet Sunday in Belfast”
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Thanks Frank!
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A perfect depiction, Jim, a place and a mood that made me sigh. I can’t speak about racism, but I worked on a production line packing magazines, and feared that whatever the other workers had might have been contagious. Late one night we stole garden gnomes for the same reason.
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Thanks Steve…..I wish I had thought of stealing garden gnomes….but it’s never too late to start!
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Fascinating poem Jim. I enjoyed joining you at your work! And you were quite the hooligan were you not… stealing that milk, babies going without, and cereal dry as Death Valley…
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Thanks Rob……some regrets over stealing milk from babies!!!!
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I really love the way you describe the scene of working the line… something I partly share, still every experience is unique (I sorted potatoes from stones in the field)… my first ever job.
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Thanks Bjorn…we never forget those first jobs!
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The worse shift to work, has to be the midnight shift, as your internal clock get messed up. Having worked several years, of this shift, with various companies. As for this poem, I love the way that you describe a bygone era that has passed away. Thank you, Jim, for sharing these experiences.
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The worst shift by far…except for seeing the sun come up!
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An interesting story of breaking the monotony of everyday work.
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Thank you!
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