Not long ago I read a passage from a 1989 journal which covered the summer before I went to Durham, England for a year. I was working in a local potato chip factory, an experience which inspired the following poem dated August 11:
“You smell like a potato chip!”
O mecca — hot cheez doodles
I lay them in their bed
hot snacks
so beautiful–
your wastage fills the waste bins
and we trail them to the dump shrine
wayfaring proletariat that we are.
O potato
O alienation
what are we breeding
the machine and I?
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