Richard Vargas

bubble gum graveyard shift, Rockford IL, 1997

the temp agency had a month-long assignment
working 3rd shift for the company in Rockford
that made a very popular brand of bubble gum
every time i drove by the bldg. the whole block
reeked of a sugary fruity fart cloud
of candy stink-of-the-week
grape/strawberry/apple/watermelon
or the original Bubblicious flavor

the hours didn’t agree with me
but i needed the paycheck
so i said sure and screw my sleep cycle

four of us would sit around a table
in an isolated room where we took
apart flawed packages of gum
unwrapped the cellophane and tossed
the individual packs that were
smashed or deformed during the
packaging process while salvaging
the undamaged product meant to be
repackaged and sold good as new

it was boring as fuck and we all
did our best to look wide awake
didn’t want someone to tap us
on the shoulder and give us
a pink slip because we really
needed the money

during our breaks we gathered
around tables drinking strong coffee
shared our hopes of getting hired
permanently because it was a union job
and the benefits were pretty good
but deep down inside we knew
our chances were slim to none

we would share news about who was hiring
in town and how much they paid
or the rising cost of everything
or who had what on sale and for how long
by the third week we got comfortable
talking about out personal lives
what we did on the weekend
how the kids were doing in school

it was near the end of the thirty-day assignment
during my last break of the early morning
while sitting with two women wearing
the white uniform shirt that made
us look like we worked in a lab
and the mandatory fish net on our heads
sipping the last stale coffee of our eight-hour shift
when they started talking about a recent
story in the local news regarding a rape
and the manhunt now in process
the thirty-something co-worker
who lived with her mom and had
a kid in the 2nd grade recalled how
during her only year in college
she attended a party after a football game
several guys on the team got her drunk
took her into a room and held her down
as they took turns with her
her tone was calm and matter-of-fact
as if recalling a field trip or the last time
she shopped at Walmart
our other co-worker who had bold tattoos
on her forearms and would herd us back to work
when our breaks ended like a mother hen
watching out for her chicks
told us about how her husband’s initiation
into a local motorcycle club included
her having to lie down for one night
and letting herself be taken
by all the members of the club
as if she was their own private sex buffet

i had become the reluctant eavesdropper
watched as their dulled pain
from an open wound
buried deep down inside
was shared in an instant
conveyed with one look
their eyes blinking like stars
a million miles away

break ended
we shuffled off
to finish our shift
worked in silence
we knew it was
for the best

 

Richard Vargas hasn’t seen it all and doesn’t want to. Latest book, The Screw City Poems, published by Roadside Press, July 2025. Currently residing near the lake where Otis Redding’s plane crashed. https://www.richardvargaspoet.com/