The Factory of Life

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You have to fight the purr of the conveyer belt to stay awake.
Every so often a blank slate zooms through the chute
And you must follow the instructions on it perfectly,
Adding the right sauces and toppings
All before it reaches the chute at the other end.

But the conveyer belt is unpredictable,
Sometimes days pass before a slate will appear.
Yet you mustn’t close your eyes for one second.
No bathroom breaks here,
For if you let a single, solitary slate go unfinished,
The punishment is severe.

Then, when you least expect it
Three, four, five, six slates come zooming in.
Rushing against the inevitable,
Struggling to concentrate
You dress each slate perfectly.

You return to your waking slumber
And try to focus your hazy eyes.
The whirring, sinister conveyer belt is trying to win.
It waits until the moment your heart rate slows
And your breathing evens.
Then, it strikes,
Sending a single slate creeping over the conveyer belt
Tiptoeing across
As your restless eyes remain shut.
And you will never know.





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