Passage Through Ennui

Passage Through Ennui

35 years ago
it was another
long bitter Summer
that dark humid July 1985.

I was working
the graveyard shift
operating one of the service elevators
at Shadowville Spinning Mill.

Galatea and I
had split up again
earlier in the year
after our explosive reunion
in 1983.

It ended quickly
after a huge fight
with her brother
over an old score
usually forgotten.

I won the fight
but actually lost.
Tracy gave up
and Galatea left with him.

The year
it all came apart
seemingly permanent.
Two years of good times
ended in a moonshine rage. .

All I could see was
a shut down gloom.
The only laughter I heard
was down in the break room.

The brown haze of factory air
angry faced people
and the music
of metal machines.

Working all night
sleeping all day.
Sipping coffee
to chase the road aspirins.

Sitting on the steps
over by a giant fan.
keeping up with my workers
usually five ladies
at the machines.

If one of the ladies
needed anything
they'd just look my way
and wave.

Several times a night
I'd make a buy and fly
bringing back coffee for them
on makeshift cardboard trays.

Jotting down notes
doodling narratives
creating reality
building Shadowville
from the ground up.

Riding my elevator
up and down
creating samizdat
in the smoking booth.

Down to the Reel room
my elevator filled
with empty racks
to bring up the full ones
for the ladies upstairs.

All night
keeping it rolling
making it smooth
for the ladies
to make production.

Finally to clock out
as the sad whistle would blow
we would stumble out the gate
into the grey dawn.

Some headed for breakfast
and a beer
while always I headed home
for sleep
as quickly as possible.

Living at Mockingbird Court
where I had shared a trailer
with my friend Bob Whitman
an Army vet turned factory worker.

Bob worked downstairs
at the Autoclave
the machine that steamed chemicals
into the yarn.

Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
ran the huge Dryers
a super hot
chemical steam bath area.

Jim married
my childhood friend Pamela
and passed away too soon
from a heart attack

I'm not sure how workers
down there
survived the heat
and harsh smell.

Actually
I noticed not so well
as years went by
several old friends
still haunt me.

There was a guy named Bill
from Chicago
found in the Dryer room
coughing up blood from TB.

Chip, another Autoclave man
was found
giggling in the warehouse
up in the bales of fiber
one line of meth too many.

Little Rosell
on the Reels downstairs
hot little femme fatale
who I would know better later.

An unteresting lady
in her Daisy Duke shorts
and "Flashdance" shirt
she was the supervisors' choice.

Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
found in a hallway
died there of old age.

The list goes on
many who did not survive
until the shut down day
another poem for another day.

At that time of the night
with machines all running right
many of us could wander
have some coffee
and get some fresh air.

Bob was a good friend
at the job
quick with a joke
or pass his pipe for a toke.

Many smokers and drinkers
would hang out
on the porch
outside the Autoclave room.

When he heard
of my latest domestic disaster
Bob offered
to rent me a room.

In a rented room
in Bob's trailer
like a scene from The Odd Couple
without the laughs.

The bottom fell out
we didn't get along
outside of the job
so I moved out
to North Highland.

I moved in
next door to the Holt family
old school mill folk
in the former mill village.

Don, Walter and Karen Holden
all worked at
Shadowville Spinning Mill
like their family before them.

Karen worked in the supply room
Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
Don covered my job
during the say shift.

For some reason
it was important to them
that they tell Mr. Newberry
that I was their cousin.

I never did figure that out
but it was cool with me.
I liked them all
they were down to Earth folks.

The day I moved in
I had my music playing loud
outside my window
was the river
and then Alabama.

I would never have imagined
how that area would look now
with the row of houses demolished
and with the Riverwalk below.

I was two floors up
but I still felt
like a mole
like a subterranean.

Wake up
it was Monday
I could hear Billy Teakson
blowing his horn in his pickup truck
down below.

Billy was an old school
Card and Blending room man
never late
sick or well he was on the job.

Slither down the stairs
so far so good
jump in and ride on
the the alternate universe
the factory.

He never failed
to have a spare Budweiser
and a smoke
for the short ride to
Shadowville Spinning Mill.

We'd get there in time
to stand around the parking lot
and catch a few words
with the crew.

Then the whistle would blow
and it was on your mark
sail through 12 hours of dream
in another land.

Grabbed a cup of rotgut
mill coffee
and then
in a determined stroll.

Up to the Bobbin Winders
and the upstairs Reels
to catch everything up quick
get the game going right.

Then down the elevator
to the Spinning room
sweat shop
a dozen ladies
smoking and yelling conversations.

Loud roaring
antique seeming machinery
all all points
no escape from
the chaos and thunder.

Get it all caught up
then down to the sub basement
to pick up the prize left for me
by Don
my first shift doppelganger.

Any time Don
skipped out early
and left everything
off the mark, it was no problem.

He'd leave me a joint
at a certain spot
in the sub basement.

The basement was
creepy enough
but the sub basement
seemed right out
of a horror movie.

Needless to say
I'd keep my head down
and would try to get out
of the sub basement quickly.

I had been distributing
my broadsheets
among my co-worker friends
news of the day
with a twist.

They were entertained
by my poetry
and comic strips
looking for themselves
in the lines on paper.

Pat, the personnel director
called me in her office
and put the kibosh
on my broadsheet.

My poetry and art zine
had violated the strict
"No Distribution" policy
that no outside reading
was permitted inside the mill gates.

Since I had not been
aware of this policy
I apologized
and kept the broadsides
outside the gates from then on.

Absolutely
no foreknowledge
of what was coming next
taking one minute at a time.

Getting from one minute
to the next
always in a hurry
caught up in the time
flashing by.

Not even giving a damn
or so I told myself
by that point in time
hoping for a speedy turnabout.

I never could have foreseen
twenty years later in 2005
standing in a crowd
watching the old mill in flames

I was living
in the worn out townhouse
at 3226 River Avenue
once part of a mill village.

First week of the month
was always annoying
so much noise
as I tried to sleep.

All day hearing Mr. Newberry
beating on the sides
of the houses with his cane
trying to collect his rent money.

Alone
in my upstairs office
writing my manifesto
in poetry and comic strips.

Right side duplex
next door to the Holden family.
Two stories overlooking
the dark green Chattahoochee.

If I had the foresight
I would know sitting and waiting
was wasting precious time
the cruelty of moments.

Time can't be saved
like in a bank.
I thought I was biding my time
while I was losing everything.

As the North Highland
sun blazed down.
And as the cool white moon
seemed to watch over it all.

The big rooms
and empty house
suited my mood
my lonesome and blue.

Looking out my upstairs window
dabbling on a canvas
not a clue
what was to come.

Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
for a beer and some smokes
the place is long gone now
35 years later.

Back then it was
the general store
where the locals stood around
shooting the breeze.

Although relatively close
the walk was winding
to get around
the far side of the factory.

Found a girl named Margo
she lived
a few doors down
from my place.

She said she liked my music
but had thought Bob Dylan's song
was The Clash
but I found her naivete charming.

Took her out and played the game
but my heart
just wasn't in it
I never saw Margo again
after that night.

At that time all seemed lost
just goes to show
I'm not much of a fortune teller
but kept hope alive.

Many nights seemed like others
so I trudged
through the days
wrote poetry
through the night.

Crossed my heart
and looked forward
to good luck
and happy days again.

No happy ending
was expected
in the foreseeable future
just more of the same.

-Will Dockery