Pleasant To Some Peasants Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

They remain,
Pleasant to some peasants.
Although all they regard,
With much disdain.
The ones,
Working the fields in soaring heat.
Enduring humidity.
Picking through crops the elite will eat.

They remain,
Pleasant to some peasants.
Yet none are called to know their names.
Since peasants to them to look the same.

"Come here, boy!
Is that mine whatcha eatin' and feedin' on?
Did I catch ya stealin'?
Dontcha get enough of what you need,
From me to depend upon?
Come here, boy!
Go to that shack and don't look back."

They remain,
Pleasant to some peasants.
Yet all they regard with much disdain.
Pleasant to some peasants they remain.
Yet...
Believe themselves above.
And not enclosed within,
Constructed borders built...
Restricting to limit control,
Over their own ignorance kept patrolled.