Salsa & alfalfa

use to have a job
at this tiny shack
somewhere in southern California
it was a salsa factory
they also packaged alfalfa sprouts
& grew them in green houses out back
i was young
everyone I worked with was Mexican
& they spoke Spanish all day
so I never knew what they were saying
we cut tomatoes all day
for Scotty's salsa
the only good thing about
the 4 dollar an hour job
was I could take home free salsa
we also put lids on alfalfa packages
they had a big tub
like a big bath tub with warm water
that we would dump the alfalfa in
then run our hands through it
with the water jets on
till it was clean
one day I had a band-aid on my finger
& it fell off in the massive tub of alfalfa
i eventually quit
because the manager lady
was an evil old witch
always yelling at me in some thick accent
i still picture some rich vegetarian
opening his package of alfalfa sprouts
maybe on his Malibu yacht
& right in the middle of his last bite
is my soggy bloody band-aid
dangling off his fork

This poem Copyright 2001 Nicholas Morgan.

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