BEHIND THE PLANT

 

Like some slumbering dinosaurs brought down to the ground, sitting silent uncared for by time.

Names like Pacolet, Saluda, Lando, Flint and Great Falls no more. 

Once great trucks parked here carrying raw materials and supplies, feeding the machines inside. Managers could tell by the sound if one worked wrong, shouting out its number to repairers.

Legion of workers collected checks and kept small towns alive. Each carrying with them the pride of work and product done.

Now only grass grows there. Machines long ago silenced. The same trucks that fed the plant were used to carry off production equipment, shipped over ocean to a cheaper labor force. Trucks that never came back again, the names of the drivers no longer spoken behind the plant.

The small houses of the towns still holding the workers that once were there, but not their pride.

The plant sits empty except for echos of the sounds, now only grass grows behind the plant. 

David Young