The Fluffers

THE FLUFFERS The fluffers are out in force working the underground tube All that hair fluff and debris stuck to the tracks greasy lube Half a ton of floatable hair; sucked within the those tunnels Scraped and picked out and then placed upon their shovels All working after midnight, after all the trains have stopped Isolating handles down, electricity to the tracks, as blocked It doesn’t do, to work these underground tunnels, all alone For within these underground tunnels ghosts tend to roam Suicides, tube workers, and even victims from World War II No trains running, yet for some of “em a cold runs through The fluffers stick together, glad to finish their midnight shift Gathering their bags of fluff, and all vanishing, in quick swift Another morning, and the trains start to run gathering dust With any loose hair and even an odd toupee lost in the gust Indiana Shaw . . .