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Poem

the hours & the company you keep

just how do you spend your hours &
the company you keep?
do you spend your days alone,
nose to the grindstone,
nose to the grindstone?
a good little american does what 
the rich wealthy white forefathers 
wanted,
they keep their nose to the grindstone 
working their knuckles to the bone in
puritan purity, keeping the work ethic 
alive,
preserving the has-been tradition in amber
like there was a special fair just around 
the corner,
where one could be exhibited as
the last productive person to ever walk
the plank of the empire---
so where will it all go?
what will the producer have to show for
themselves, if they don’t make it 
big,
in the great place still called the
“land of the free,”
by some, who have yet to spend time here &
find out that they never should’ve left
wherever they came from?
if one doesn’t prioritize a life
with friends & family at the top of the 
pyramid,
drowning out all commitments to business &
jobs, work & the state,
the hours spent with the nose to the grindstone 
are hours spent as a slave---
for you, yes you, 
are in wage slavery
a slavery in which you happily sing a tune
as they come crashing down with the lash,
taking away pensions, taking away health care,
taking away
taking away,
until it’s all gone---
better to have others to fight with
when the other shoe drops,
than to have devoted a life to the process &
the system that devours it.

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