Working-Class Poem by THEO RAY

Silent night. The Devil had a smile. The dirt was tossed. In the tomb. A thousand centuries pass. My art is filled with madness, anarchy, pain, hunger, lust, alcohol, barbwire, factories-I worked in a factory-I'm the 'Working-class Hero.' My knuckles are bloody-my stomach is hungry, my teeth hurt, I sing while I work, my legs hurt and back ache's-the pains in my head won't go away.Silent night, there is no silent night. I can't afford a tomb. My art is filled with madness.............A cold gray sky above me, a cold gray factory to hug me-....Just finished my shift, standing outside,3 in the morning, behind the plant with my co-workers, huddled around a barrel, filled with wood and fire, trying to keep warm, drinking beer, making fun of the supervisors, laughing, drinking, drinking, laughing. Life is hard, but so are we.The Devil had a smile. The Devil sat next to me.....and together we shared a drink.