Money, Money, Money

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?

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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