50 Shades Of Red Poem by Charlie Emer

Rice. One bowl in the morning, another in the afternoon.

The assembly line screeches as arthritic gears clash beneath my hands.
I stitch together floral dresses for faceless American cows.

A bayonet gives me a reassuring poke in the back to remind me that I need to work faster to beat the capitalist pigs at their own game.

I don't need breaks; rest is for the weak.

Workers of the world,
unite.

God bless Karl Marx.