Slave Cars
I do my every part,
And in quietness
I make the standard.
Five days every week,
Eight hours every day,
I punch them.
I burn them.
I grind them.
I drill them.
I cut them down to size.
I count them.
I mark them.
I ship them.
I cope;
I brake them individually
With pride and prejudice
For the building of the cars
That hold us there
To be sold under contract
From the lowest bidder.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2006
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