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Labor Days

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Labor Days

and Blue Collar ways

I’d like some recompense for every bodily offense 

I’ve incurred over a lifetime of employment

I’ve left so much skin everywhere that I’ve been

You’d think that I did it for enjoyment

But the fact of the matter, whether soft or hard hatter

A workin’ stiff tends to bleed

From repeated abrasions to cuts on occasions 

Through a primary need for speed

So you learn as you go how to pack, heave and throw

To avoid tearin’ a tendon

But through everyday tussles you’re sure to pull muscles

That’ll never finish mendin’

“Tis nobler to have bled”, a boss of mine said,

“than to be thought of as some kind of chicken.

Get out on that plank ‘cause you ain’t got no rank

or my boot from yer ass you’ll be pickin’!”

Even though you get hurt and blood tends to spurt

Yer butt’s only a small piece of ‘the force’

When you eventually wear out, you’ll be findin’ no doubt

That management shows little remorse

You’ve gotta stay with it, all you can give it

To fulfill your obligations

For that’s what’s expected until doubtless ejected

So here’s a few observations…

If I had a penny for just however many

Times I’ve been scraped, gouged or cut

For on a regular basis, I keep leavin’ little traces

Of my fingers, elbows and butt

An’ if I got a nickel for every minute in a pickle

And didn’t have a sandwich to go with it

Or maybe a half-dollar for every blood chillin’ holler

From smashing some unfortunate digit


And perchance a thin dime for every damn time

I’ve caught the edge of a sudden red light

Or walked into something ‘cause I was wound too tight

Or smacked my thumb ‘till it was bloody and numb

Then spat out phrases considered offensive to some

(I’d be loaded!)

Or even a quarter for each time I got shorter

by too many repetitive hard landings

on account of some boss who thought it a loss

to be worried about his workers’ idle rantings.

Throw in a buck for every missed “Duck!”

that left my noggin bewildered and throbbin’

to say nothing at all of the falls, big and small

that left me bleedin’ and sobbin’.

With bonuses given for splinters driven

so deep that they need to fester

before using yer knife to gross out yer wife

by popping wood from its fleshy sequester.

I’d have so much money it would oddly be funny

to go someplace warm after autumn

not fret the purity of Social Security

and find some nice cozy sand for my bottom.


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Author info

Scott Clawson Scott Clawson No, he's not the electrician, he's the OTHER Scott Clawson, who's a quality builder when he's not busy busting a gut while writing his humor column for the first issue of each month, or drawing his Acres n' Pains cartoons.

Tagged as:

injuries, Labor Days, working

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