The Thinner Sent Them To Early Graves

I was eventually able to get inside the plant that held most of the employment in
the town, where hundreds of middle-aged Mexican women stood over an endlessly
long water troth, containing thousands of bobbing dildos; the women--in lab coats
and hairnets, nursed the members down the line in deep concentration and patience,
alongside hanging vinyl side buckets, filled with red paint and brushes for
laying on veins and other textured relief.

Down a-ways, when they were transferred to a dryer environment, they dipped the
heads into a red sweet-and-sour sauce, which turned their glove tips red.

The next room contained long horseshoe dry-cleaning tracks, with headless double-e
mannequins. Poised, preppy and suckling like an oven carousal. Awaiting the cool
hands of pastry artists.

The Faster toned and textured cocks made their way off into the vanishing darkness
of the plants belly, as four women at the lines end discarded the sloppy ones into a
basket (where the paint smeared the end, looking like lipstick, or, as if the cock had

And high above, the forewoman (this proud little wild-eyed chick), said they usually
handled 500-1000 dildos a day on average, give or take. No lube. No beads. No

The rest of them in the parking lot swore at their car doors, with cocksucker
finger-paint around their wrists.

Chris is a 20 yr old jobless shifter, who will keep writing poetry until he has
enough to claim it a book.

He's been recently published, or has forthcoming work in The SaucyVox, The Cerebral
Catalyst, and Zygote in my Coffee.

He lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

2006 Underground Voices