On Getting Fired

(first printed in Riding Home, Talon Books, 1995)

I can’t remember their names any more;
I can’t remember their names any more;
they came and they went, never asking what for,
and got eaten by the people eating machine,
while money runs like blood to secret coffers.

In the belly of the beast,
you can hear young women laughing,
laughing, laughing….
In the belly of the beast,
you will never hear them cry.

I like me, I’m strong; I can live here all right.
I’ve worked here two years, a week, and a day.
It keeps me off welfare and food lineups,
while money runs like blood to secret coffers.

They came from Toronto, the young hatchet women.
And I thought I was getting hard.
Geez, you know, I thought I was getting hard!
I am but a novice
fit only to crouch at their stone feet,
yearning after their stone heart.

In the belly of the beast,
you can hear young women laughing,
laughing, laughing….
In the belly of the beast,
you will never hear them cry.
No, you’ll never hear them cry.
Nor me either.
You won’t hear me crying.

February, 1988

Copyright 2009, Helen Potrebenko. For permissions please visit http://helenpotrebenko.icopyright.com

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