The Worker's Poem.

I am a warehouse worker, I fit in no square peg
My edges are round and fruitful
I stand on obese legs
I work till I am humbled
I slave till I am bent
My fingers they are raw, dear
My neck, it aches, a-burning red

I am a warehouse worker, I stand and repeat moves
Over and over I robot, until the break behooves
My master to shout out, “lunch, last box, or break”
And when that word is uttered, an echo does it make
Around the warehouse floor, the workers they do whoop

And dance and mingle vaguely, and chatter about their hurt.

We are the poor-caste workers,
We stand on pained legs,
Our backs, they are a-broken,
Our souls bent, distorted, strained

All we do is complain, yes, all we do is gripe
About all our suffering, injustice, and crime
Of the few against the many,
Those who can afford the things
We pack and toil over nightly
We covet and we see

The disparagy between our peoples
The many with so few
Packing for the richmen
Packing for, likely, you.
We like to cook, too, you know,
We like to share food with friends,
We are no different from you,
We just have so little at the end

For there are children to feed,
And divorces to pay for,
Health concerns too costly to afford
The likes of Le Creuset and Kitchen Aid

I am a warehouse worker, I’m tired and underfed
My weight comes from my allergies
To subsidized eggs and bread
I have so little energy
I cannot make it said
In adequacy, how angered
The rich have made me red
We packed $800k today
We packed and stumbled home
To bottle, to wife, to bed
Too tired to revolt.

Viking Lament

If things had been the way they were in the Viking Period, none of this would have happened.

Someone would have slandered my wife, and I would have taken an axe to their entire family. End of issue. Their family, in turn, would have complete right to come after my family with axes, and the end result would likely be something along the lines of a big bloody mess where everyone gets killed until a Godi steps in and tells everyone to knock it off.

I wish often that things were this simple. I wish we didn’t have any problem with people that we couldn’t solve with a little bit of slaughter, or the fear of slaughter pushing on everyone’s subconscious to behave. A little bit of death can scare folks into submission to lawful order.

Unfortunately, we have all fallen away from this particular methodology of conflict resolution. Perhaps, in our dystopic future, we will be able to behave in this simplistic and animalistic manner once again. It seems as though we will not be able to evolve.