Laborer's Ode Ii - Bottled-Up Future

In his mid-30s but still a boy Given $14.50 an hour and 12 hour shifts Six days a week His driver’s license confiscated For five slung beers over a night long ago Cost him $10,000 Contributed to the system Of judges bailiffs lawyers and Presidents All residents Of the lakes and new mansions up north on weekends Five years it will take him To pay them for his sin. Out here on the way to work There are no buses So the boy joins a line of third world refugees Walking an hour and a half a day Each way Through the sweat of summer And the snow of winter From Greatdale Apartments To the soda pop company’s bottling plant He limps down the shoulder of King’s Road Texting a screen scream to his desperate dad “I can’t do this anymore!” This The only demand the son can manage While Escalades Roar by him Side mirrors whisking within inches of his elbows The thought of the American Dream Or even the idea of a violent union revolution Pouring out of him Like his 10 cent returns After work at the Party Store.