Paying Job Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Paying job

Car is jammed, has hit van
A tow car in front, one behind.
These vultures look for dead,
Regardless…

They don’t care who, when, where
Don’t ask what, nothing is important.

Their goal, aim, is one thing,
Paying job.


They are like mercenaries, mariners and soldiers
All trained and well-paid “Go and kill, it’s your job.”

Soldiers kill, thieves steal
Law-Rule-Faith, the liars’ practice.

Some bury, make casket, dig grave
Some cure, mishandle, some claim.

And teachers, trainers practice, improve
In each field, everywhere, with grooves.