A Mutation of Thought
Children grew distended stomachs
To scream, for a life, from the capitalists.
A required bow.
“Up and down, proper bow
Like an oil derrick.”
There's strength in numbers.
(Just ask the groundskeeper at a
How blisters decorate
While their fingers
Perform the duties
Of a proper worker.
How rose petals
Break away from bouquets,
Scatter across the trimmed lawn
Like dead fall leaves.
It's the children,
Providing a lust for profit.
A marketable graveyard
Filled with the corpses
To keep the groundskeeper
Slaves had songs.
Revolutions had bullets.
Workers have a choice,
Or take aim.
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