Lone Ghost

To Work Harder?

From dawn to dusk
I work my as off...

My caveman feet
and my ashtray hands
are nothing but living proofs
of years, eaten by the strategy
of the monster of wage inequality,
from a guy who spent his life fixing roofs,

And you keep telling me...
to work harder?

In a world that PhD's
are a 'must'
to drive
a cab,
all I can say is...

Where is our brains?

Where is our hearts?

Topic(s) of this poem: social injustice, work

Poem Submitted: Thursday, February 9, 2017
Poem Edited: Friday, February 10, 2017

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