The glorious assembly lines
were always a guilty pleasure.
Strolling around to see my home and family.
We were passed around,
shown gratitude and tears,
and in the same instant,
we were shipped out.
We picked up calligraphy and cigarettes.
We marched to drums the size of a giant's fist.
We walked up abandoned streets,
made the best of the beat down and broken apartments
and started the cycle all over again.
I always wished to change the tradition,
but my backbone was never more than actual bones,
and my thoughts were nothing more than theirs.
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