Collateral Damage
One can hear metal grinding on metal
making a mournful sound.
A rusted door swinging aimlessly.
The sounds of the death of a town.
Or, perhaps, a section of a city
infected with jobless blight,
a paved road crumbling to nowhere,
windows boarded up from the light.
Buildings that once contained myriad sounds
of workers and machines into the night.
The stream of workers changing shifts
became a comforting sight
Now, ships loaded with raw materials
pass silently in the night,
headed for more distant shores.
Money changed what was once thought right.
And why hasn't this obvious travesty
turned the lawmakers' swivel heads?
They're searching for that pot of gold,
never mind about industry's dead.
The ruins of collateral damage
are hidden by the lustrous Midas gold.
Old Glory sewn by workers' hands
is just part of our story told.
We've added new chapters that tear our hearts
as they tell of our greedy ways.
Our country is selling its inner strength
and it's the worker who finally pays.
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