Supplicated hands, extending
the beggar waits forever
From inside the glass office looking out,
such is the natural state of things

Make them wait, make them grovel,
have them kiss your feet
and one or two may be chosen
to ascend from the paycheck-to-paycheck
world to a place where one can
buy a newer car, which doesn’t shake
you to the core as it ambles over bumps,
where one can hire a plumber
without a blink
where one can have a child
without ending up in the poorhouse

II.
What if we didn’t care anymore
What if we said we’d no longer beg
What if the worker, no longer isolated
in cubicle, decided to lock arms
What if we all left at once

How, then, the headless coprophagic patients would scramble!
But, even then the scabs wouldn’t be good enough
Those in the glass office would have to come
to terms with our demands
Just maybe, then we’d have the funds for a child
or to purchase a newer car without going broke