Money, money, money.
Time ensnared, body in chains…
No, not really, not ever, not quite.
I never really know
How that really feels,
So, I shouldn’t say that.
But, sometimes, I feel
Like there is an invisible
Ball and chain
Around my leg,
In my office.
No, I don’t really know
What that feels like, I know,
But, do you ever feel like that?
Because you have to be there?
Because you have to pay your bills?
I know, I have it very good.
I shouldn’t complain.
There are lots of benefits
That come with my job.
I know, I have it very easy,
Compared to many others.
So, perhaps, it is wrong
For me to complain.
But, just for the moment,
Please, indulge me.
After all, I live in a country,
In which some seem to think,
It is their right to hate.
It is their right to discriminate.
It is their right to enslave.
It is their right to provide
A small amount of benefits,
Or, none at all,
In return for very hard work,
With little pay,
With no leave,
With no insurance.
Am I too far off?
Am I wrong, after all,
To bring up the fact,
That it is on the broken backs of those
Who produce the labor,
To earn the dollars
That fill the pockets
Of those at the very top,
While leaving very little
For the rest of us?
What is wrong with this picture?
Stumbling along the sidewalk 