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.
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