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Footsteps of the west



Monday was a good day –
I wore my dad’s shirt;
A shirt with sleeves.  Covered up
My arm, which I've hurt.

Never worn a shirt with sleeves;
Made me feel smart.
You couldn’t see underneath
My skin came apart.

I got to work early day.
The place was alive.
Seven in the morning,
And busy, like a hive.

Boss was dressed up smart.
I felt poor.
The walls had got new paint on –
Carpet floor.

All conveyer belts running;
Fences built;
Chemicals away;
Nothing spilt.

Everyone had shoes on,
Wherever I looked.
Shoes for me, too –
Told they’d get ‘booked’.

They gave me gloves, apron,
Special glasses.
Boss told us, "Look happy!
"No sitting on arses!"

At lunch there was soup –
Everyone got a break.
The white coats
Sat separate, ate steak.

After lunch they walked round;
Watched us work the floors.
They clicked cameras at machines,
They measured the doors.

They looked at me;
I smiled like I was told.
But I didn't get it;
I'm not that old.

I'm eight, but Boss said,
“Say ‘eleven’.
“If they ask what time you stop
“You say ‘seven’.”

When the white coats left
Boss held them all in the hand.
They spoke English -
Can’t understand.

Tuesday wasn’t a good day;
They saw under my shirt.
Then they took my arm off,
But now it doesn't hurt.
 
So I’m pleased.

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