The unshelled peanuts pour down the flue
Like a throng of ecstatic bald men, dancing.

I put my hands into the flue and raise them.
I let the peanuts fall over my head.

I place a nut between my teeth.
It tastes of pencil lead.

I place the bad nut in an iron trough.
When the trough is full it is taken to the furnace.

The good nuts are portioned, weighed
And sealed into foil bags – but I am not involved in this.

We can eat as many nuts as we like.
We are all so sick of nuts we cry sometimes.

Friday mornings we leave the factory, dancing,
Like unshelled peanuts pouring down a flue.