Home > Musings of a Decorative Ham Man > Musings of a Decorative Ham Man

Musings of a Decorative Ham Man

By Chris Vitiello
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On Thursdays, the ships bring in the giant containers of decorative hams. They are loaded onto flatbed trucks, driven east and they arrive in great stacks at my factory. I supervise what comes next.

The workers, lurking in halls, suddenly descend upon the great receptacles. Upon occasion, it is necessary for me to whip them but they have grown used to the process and even developed a certain modicum of efficiency. I watch them unload the decorative hams into smaller containers.

I use the word container but really, for me, these are decorative ham reliquaries. It is a shame that they are made of cold, poorly-painted steel. They should be bejeweled.

Next, the decorative hams are rolled on carts towards the patented Vitiello Conveyor Cinctures. They are further decorated as they move slowly by a series of skilled craftsmen in aprons. And finally each decorative ham is paraded past my office window. Decorative hams not worthy of the Vitiello name are burned in secret indoor pits.

I come from nothing. Out of the mountains of West Lankville– my father was a violent drunk. He came home to the trailer every night with a different woman. “Here’s your new mama,” he would scream, pushing the harlot onto the sofa next to me. Even then, I made little decorative hams out of paper. I had a dream.

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