Handle It
Handle It!
and thus the dirty hands crept ever close
searching for neither penny nor for pound
kept down by those of class who never rose
above the station birth to them had bound.
cold eyes that deign to gaze upon such need
immune to all the vagaries of life
hard hearts that clutch despair within their greed
pretentiously saluting drum and fife
soft hands of kneaded dough and watered soup
thin sliced bread spread liberally with love
scrapes pots bottom in hope of one more scoop
gentle lights, empty plates, no parting hugs
proud hands that hold the secrets of our wars
patrol the night lest we might see our flaws
11/18/2016
submitted to – Sonnet - Poetry contest
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2016
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