Issue
#3

May
2009 

2 poems by Wayne Mason

The Factory Worker's Piece Of The Pie

The Indian store
down the road
where I buy my
incense, smokes
and cheap quarts
of malt liquor

Its sign glows
through darkness
advertising the
American dream

Beer, Lotto, Cigarettes

My work buddy says
Goddamn Wayne
There has to be
more than this

He's only twenty-three
and I have him beat by
about eleven years

So I don't have the
heart to tell him that
there's probably not

© Wayne Mason

The Same Old Song

In the noise of
hydraulics and gears
I hear the blues

More soulful
than raspy croons
truer than guitar

Shake hiss clank
symphony of machines
laboring in rhythm

© Wayne Mason

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