The Factory Girl Poem by Gert Strydom

At eight o'clock the workday begins
and like a mechanical machine
she is busy with the
the never ending packing,
the packing of fresh fish

and here there is no time for dreams,
or even thoughts that lead away from work
as you have got to be sharp to avoid
the blades ever carving the fish
halving them, cutting some to smaller bits.

At lunch time the other girls are chatting,
about their new boyfriends, their husbands and men
or about their lack of them
and then she starts to dream about a house
high up on tamboerskloof

with a big garden full of flowers and trees
and wild birds that roam free,
about a rich strong friendly loving man
that outside in the street smiled at her
and suddenly she wonders

if she will ever again meet him,
before the alarms rings again
and it's back to work,
to from the conveyer belt
pick up and pack and pack again.