Lip Service

A field of angry faces fume with mouths agape as spittle flies from lips best used for other tasks. Upon the green , the rolling lawn of angst, demonstrators wave paper placards. Group A never nearing Group B. Flags drape the bandstand packed with pomp and politicians give lip-service to the trodden rights of man. Unequal, but present, women, fe-males present themselves in all manner of vehicles from stroller to walker to wheel chair, we are here. For one hundred years, we have been ‘given’ the ‘right’ to own property, but still our labor is worth less. Un-joined, un-backed, if alone, many are left in the ranks of the poor. A field of angry faces fume no child care, no child left behind, inadequate health care, still we struggle on in the twenty-first century, where politicians preen and prance and misuse our votes. The divide ever present, our ranks rife with unrest, our creative powers used to shackle us given only lip-service. Still, we will prevail.