Today is Record Store day! To celebrate I’ve written something about the music I like and if you have a bit of time this afternoon, get yourself down to Piccadilly Records in Manchester. In this day and age there’s something to be said for a real CD or record, as opposed to digital copies. There’s always a brilliant honeymoon period with a new album where you put it on and start flicking through the inlay, reading acknowledgements and lyrics, learning everything there is to know about a band. One of my favourite artists of all time is Bob Dylan, and I was lucky enough to find a bizarre book of his lyrics/poetry/inlay notes and artwork in a second hand book store. I’ve stolen two words from a Dylan song, and used them in here. As a word of note, I did work in a factory for about a week or so, (not shifts this long, but I’ve worked those in restaurants).
Twelve hour shift face, cuts bags under
weary warehouse eyes. Sweat soaked
uniform, he climbs the steps and sits
uneasy on the top deck, surrounded
Dreams of bed, the hour shared there
with his girlfriend before office hours
commute her away. Shuffles in red rashed
seat, keeps eyes forced open.
Knows five people, one drove a forklift
Died at work.
Wipes condensation from window
pane and looks out through
weary warehouse eyes.