Working night security
the foot soldiers of the packing plant
march with heads bowed
destined for the graveyard shift
and I watch them file by
through the west gate
of the plant in South St. Paul
as I sit accompanied by my badge
and other accouterments of my position
dressed in my finely pressed
ShurFire Security uniform
wearing my best black patent leather
Red Wing steel toed shoes
and I watch them carefully
all of them
the reluctant executioners
some carrying vegetarian fare
in coal black lunch pails
as they crush out
half smoked cigarettes
in the sand buckets that stand
outside of the guard shack
directly beneath the sign that reads
ABSOLUTELY NO SMOKING BEYOND THIS POINT
and in some cases they aggressively
but seldom carelessly
punch time cards into
the unforgiving grey metal clock
11:58PM … clackity clack it goes one time
11:59PM … clackity clack it goes another
a girl in a denim jacket
blue jeans and knee high gum-rubber boots
pushes her black horned rim glasses
higher on her nose and looks straight ahead
looking frail and out of place
in the pale green light
doomed time card in hand
12:01AM … clackity clack
she’s docked in what could have been
a simple twist of fate
brought on perhaps by
a crying baby – unsavory husband
overheated car
an unforgiving day
“Hey,” yells the foreman
“you playin’ with yourself out there?”
tardy girl shuffles in like
she didn’t hear it
Ed's end of the planet books 
I love this! Having worked graveyard in a factory, I can relate. The thing with the time clock… man, oh man, you bring back memories. This needs to be submitted to a literary magazine. Wonderful!
Thank you for reading and commenting. This poem came from my days working night security at a meat packing company back in 1974. I still have many memories of that place – few of them good. If I had worked there for another year, I probably would have become a vegetarian for life.