poor people's march

with whom are you sleeping mr. lindner?

who greets you in your mirror each day?

could it be that pusillanimous motherfucker from crawford?
you know, the one who greases your palm with what he steals from the poor.

could it be yesterday's lie you overcook,
wrap in your paper
and drop as scraps at our feet?

are we supposed to be grateful?
we're hungry, sure,
but we have hearts that recognize truth.

what can a poor man do to resist such venality?

look in my eyes,
learn defiance.