When They Are All Gone Poem by Randy McClave

Who's going to pick the beans
Who's going to pick the other greens,
And who will work in the scorching summer heat
To pick my food to eat.
Who's going to pick the fruits
And who will pull potatoes out by the roots,
Who will be paid way less than minimum wage
Because, that type of work none of us will engage.
Who's going to pay that tax
On their shoes, boots, shirts and slacks,
When they don't work here no more
When they're not welcomed in our country or store.
Who's going to pay the higher price
Because, we won't pick the fruits the vegetables or the rice,
And when the price of eggs get higher
Because, that type of work we scream, 'We Are Not For Hire'!
So, please tell me what are we going to do
Will we starve, for myself I have not a clue,
And whose going to fix my roof and maintain my lawn
When they are all gone.

Randy L. McClave