“Faster,” they tell me
“More cuts. More speed.”
Grueling conditions
brought on by greed
A job, they tell me
That’s what I need
I have three children
I’ve got to feed
Kill chickens, they say
As fast as you can
14,000 a day
by my own hands
The line’s too fast
I can’t keep up
My fingers bleed
from all the cuts
My hands ache
My arms are sore
But every day,
they demand more
Imelda complained
ICE broke down her door
So I keep my mouth shut
on the slaughterhouse floor
9 Nov 2018
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