Modern Peasants Poem by DM W

They gamble their life-blood away on slot machines
And days at the Races or via that vile tax
On the oppressed: the National Lottery.
They blindly follow favoured football teams and wax
Lyrical about many arcane sporting facts.
They purchase the merchandise and make others rich
On the sweat and blood of their heavy-burdened backs.
All of their dreams depend on wins on fixture lists.
Alcohol on a weekend relaxes their minds
Briefly, but rots the brain & body given time.
Henceforth, the raising of consciousness among them
Is impossible. Alas, they're hapless victims
Of social atomisation, as are we who
Think we are free, but really just as lost and doomed.