I Met Carl Marx In a Bookstore

I met Carl Marx in a bookstore hanging around in the classics, waiting some casual reader's mind to seduce his weaver, painter, plowhorse, produce a strange dream of worker equality the value of labor, everyman matters, An oxcart teeters, ideas splatter into his subtile, beguiling reasoning I read on, in a dream, this worker paradise A place where each of our labors have worth If I study and become a doctor of medicine I am the same as the welder and the shopkeeper I felt the burdens of the laborer upon me I saw his vision of classlessness preside I wanted to buy that book! but it's silly I am a capitalist, shamelessly bourgeois..