The Poor
create wealth for those already wealthy.
Assets circulate in sinister eccentricity,
in ugly secrets. Hackneyed platitudes
cannot repair this toxic landscape.
Unscarred, over-fed barons manipulate our daily lives
through stock options and insider trading.
This hostile takeover of human resources
leaves the minimum wage at $7.25.
Melted for minerals, what is my material body worth?
There are no traces of rare earth.
Perhaps my innards could be sold.
My only value lies in labor for others.
What is the cost of a pound of flesh?
7 thoughts on "The Poor"
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This gave me shivers and I could not agree more. Where’s my pitchfork?
“Do you hear the people sing, singing the songs of angry men,” and women. Am I right??? Thank you!
Yes! Ready the pitchforks!
Love the alliteration in “melted for minerals, what is my material body worth?” and the other question concluding the poem. Rhetorical questions done well!
Thank you so much, River!
Powerful poem, E. E. “Melted for minerals, what is my material body worth?” – exactly right! And, of course, love the Shakespearean reference! I’m with Deanna – gather the pitchforks.
“unscarred . . . barons” says so much in just 2 words.