Artwork by Banksy




life, injustice, and a clean 

shirt …





we are entangled in the bog, as we sweat, as we slog.



the crumbs we receive, with fanfare do deceive.



the 1% whip up emotions of hate, as they remain buffered in their ostentatious state.



we the people are confined to sweatshops, grinding away, for 18 hours a day.



they dock our pay if we dare fall ill, sewing our tongues shut so we may not talk, as long as their designer labels get paraded on the catwalk.



we have been subjected to this and we may never leave, as our mothers and fathers before us, into whom the talons of greed did gnaw and cleave.



they stoke our passions, of race, gender, religion, to whip up hate, blinding us so we may not see that we all share the same fate.



we are stuffed into offices, while they withhold our pay, while they strangle us until we bleed, our families discarded, for who are we to breathe and to feed.



we are expected to endure this hell, of indignity, of injustice, of tattered souls, of inexpressible hurt,


as we are repeatedly kicked down into the dirt.



but the news tells us that all is well,


the stock-markets are rallying,


the market robust as their coffers continue to swell,


as their billboards entice us with that haute couture pair of jeans, that impossibly expensive skirt,


just so that we clock in,


day in and decade out,


in a crisp clean shirt …





Artwork from Google