Wings Clipped

Chris Bodor
Florida, USA

During the Summer of 1985
the beach began to beckon
but instead I got my wings clipped.

In one hand
I held a high school diploma
In my other hand I held a timecard

During my tenure at the factory
I never soared too close to the sun
I never dipped too close to the ocean waves
I flew in a straight line from the drill press,
to the deburring machine,
past the steel drum filled with metal shavings
resisting urges and cravings.

Days blurring together
turning gears and pushing levers
I would secretly plan a getaway trip
but I would always surrender
because my wings were clipped.