Who would not salvage the dust for the poor,
or whatever the change may be for the well-versed men in dollars?
So be it, the Roman giants or Russian oligarchs whom search for vast heaps of green in corporate monasteries,
chime in, fairing equity, for their Wallstreet yachts, oligarch suits, and whatever their norm might be.
How little do they think of their neighbours? Or the next country over?
Would they truly give their neighbours fair bidding, when in a bind?
Men in white suits and leather shoes, calling one another Vikings for counting numbers.
Humanitarianism by listening to one different from one’s self, is forsaken,
for gold watches and thick jeans with impeccable stitches.
The poor robbed with their life, cycle through the habits of trudging in labour or vice,
as bourgeoise keep clean as they watch the noose tie tight,
when a man chokes and gags on the weight of disparity.
But surely the men in suits would want to live freely and others should work harder to be as them.
The bare feet of the man could hardly kick the dirt, or the wooden planks beneath him.