LAURIE D. GRAHAM
The Window Blind Factory
is the endurance of atrophy.
On break outside Derwent High School,
now a blind factory cultivating jobs,
in the bookless classrooms of industry,
gymnasium lifebreath enterprise, entrepreneurial smoke-breaks
or not — the women in front of the school have the same devout braids,
the same homemade blouses under company windbreakers, the same empty hands.
Maybe they’re made to wear uniforms. Blind into blind-slot, factory vinyl,
promise of supper and a walk to work, blind into blind-slot
all week in a town of two hundred, blinds tumbling
out the cutter. The unemployed in town —
what they think of these women,
their flashing, vacant hands, their paycheques.