F sat on the outside steps. There was no shade but inside was much worse. Several operators had fainted and one had been sick at his machine. F lit a cigarette and stared across the fields. The factory was surrounded by brown soybean fields in all directions. It reminded him of his time at the farm upstate.
F went back inside. The foreman, in shirt sleeves and with a pencil tucked behind his ear, marched up to F and started shouting in his face, as was his habit. F noticed a gold crucifix dangling from the man’s fat neck. He seized it, breaking the chain. Then he tucked the tiny Jesus in his pocket. The foreman’s face turned deep red. He started cursing F’s religion, diet, and personal hygiene. Without a second thought, F flattened the foreman with a jab to his face.
F turned and left the building. No one called after him or tried to stop him, though he was certain he heard applause in the distance.
Outside, the heat was terrific. F strolled to the edge of the fields and plucked a bean pod from a stalk. He bit the end off the pod and chewed on the seeds. They were very flavorful. F had watched the sprayers douse the field many times and he wondered whether that mattered now.
Jeremy Nathan Marks lives in the Great Lakes Region of North America. Recent poetry/prose pop up in places like Studio One, Fifty Word Stories, The Medley, 365 Tomorrows, CommuterLit, and a variety of other spots. Jeremy works in adult education.
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