Ungrateful Poem by David Welch

In fields beneath a burning sun,
behind horses smelling foul,
we hacked the ground so seeds could grow,
walked hard miles behind the plow,
trying to feed all our families
out of the hardpacks, sand, and loam,
wiping off sweat, looking forward
to being able to go home.

Deep within tunnels beneath earth,
coal black dust destroyed our lungs,
we blasted out a country's fuel,
ever fearful that the next one
could bring roofs down and trap us here,
in graves unmarked and unknown;
hauling out ore 'till closing time,
when we finally could go home.

Out in the sun on the highway,
each passing car a mortal threat,
building a road so normal folks
can to their workplaces get.
Feeling nerves every single time
we hear those big truck brakes moan,
unable to draw easy breaths
until we're let loose to go home.

Surrounded by a factory
where red-hot steel is freely poured,
accidents are not unheard of,
we all know there will be more.
You can't ever be truly safe
working metal so hot it flows,
we build the country at great risk,
then we can thankfully go home.

Perched high above a gotham town,
manipulating big I-beams,
raising up a great structure that
one day with glass panes will gleam,
hoping that harnesses will work
so we don't plunge screaming below,
watching each step so cautiously
to be sure that we can go home.

Trudging hard in desert mountains,
hunting down the terrorist scum,
breaking evil that knows no law
but that enforced by our big guns,
killing them before they can go
rig out houses and stores to blow,
counting the days left in our tour,
until we can leave and go home.

Walking into those homes, at last,
Ii has been one nerve-wracking day,
but there's no peace, for we must hear
our wives and our girlfriends say:

Ugh, your masculinity is so toxic! What is it even good for? You need to learn more from feminism or you'll just be a violent brute and a threat to society!

….?
….!
Are you friggin' kidding me?