Deep Freeze Overtime

The air outside is stagnant,
swampy like the Okefenokee
except this locale is in the
opposite direction of Havana,
but just as heated and humid
as that exotic locale.

And to think that the
same kind of weather
happened only yesterday,
yet I was experiencing
the polar opposite for
the much of that day.

Literally so,
since my skin
is chapped in
odd places.

Playing Forklift Hero
for twelve hours a day
can leave a man
burned on the skin,
churned in the stomach,
spurned in the experience,
and turned on and off by it all.

And,
not so regrettably,
I'm more at ease
soulfully now then
I have been all year.

I guess earning overtime
in the deep freeze
can do that to a person.

But,
even so,
several innocent boxes of
frozen bread dough ate the wrath
of my tenderfoot status,
because the fake audience despised
my rendition of the forklift classic
"Pick Up The Pallet and
Place It Properly In This Location."

I know,
longest fake song title ever.

Except my forklift is my guitar.

The protection cage rammed and
ripped them, destroying them
before they had the righteous
opportunity to truly rise
to the occasion,
like an engorging phallus.

Seriously,
did you not think
you'd escape this work
from the cesspool of Hades
without a reference to a
rooster in there somewhere?

But,
anyway,
these innocent loaves
only rise when the sting
of the summer heart
activates the yeast
trapped within.

And yet,
we associate
the concept
with an eternal
burning sensation.

But,
who said that
the eternal burning,
the infernal yearning,
had to be exclusively
heated?

Frostbite burns to
the third degree
as well, like a
gangrenous picnic
of zombie flesh.

Staying inside an
artificially frozen
environment can burn
the skin down to the self,
no matter how much
your corporate masters
compensate you.

So I perspire into
my coat and coveralls
and the high-powered
fan blades cool the
liquid into a solid,
as my own internal
nuclear reactor
compels me, braves me
into pressing onward.

Onward toward the
conclusion of this
hellish week so I
can move closer to
closing the door on
this hellish life.

And so I wander
into the murky,
muggy, sweltering,
helter-skeltering place
called the natural world
praying that the
black swamp
alligator called
this existence
make the final
clench on my
heart fleeting,
and he devours
it as fast.

And yet,
it could be
a polar bear
of an existence
if there is no
lake of fire.

So what,
who cares?

It is what it is after all.

Reviews

[Tkess]

Very nice my good man. You could just turn this into a short story, at least that is the way it reads to me. I love the detail in this one. I worked in a grocery store warehouse and a beer distributor through college. Reading through this it reminded me of working there. No heat in the winter; no AC in the summer. The occasional drizzle of piss from the owners and management. Probable describes the life of many a man in middle class America.

[John Patrick Robbins AK..]

Good write Kenneth the Geek most people call me Gonzo the drunk
dam fine work and a very good sense of a jaded veiw so to speak amigo
the way you write conects and thats a very good thing cheers and stay crazy

Gonzo

[Fairy Willow]

Great read. Very interesting. Nice piece. :)

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

You will master it and no more bread will be destroyed.........if I could figure out how to put a commercial mop bucket together so I could mop a restaurant floor, after years of writing laws and ordinances, I know you can do this. A wonderful write Kenneth.

[Rene Velez]

all work and no play makes jack a dull boy, man oh man this is sweet...

[Jeremy Baker]

Que sera, sera! I like the moments of laughter interspersed with the serious observations of life. I always enjoy reading your work, and this was no exception. Excellent writing!