The War At Home
Wayne Mason
You see them tired and sick
trudging across abysmal dawn
in dingy worn work shirts
and steel toes beating down
cracked sidewalks to warehouse
and factory floors
They look like defeated soldiers
amidst a war they’ll never win
Because desire for change
has been swallowed by need
and the vision of Marx
is now but a a dreamy utopia
to be discussed by rich students
in dreary college classrooms
Because strikes are resolved
by shipping jobs away
and the face of Che Guevara
is now but a logo
to move cheap shirts
in sad hip boutiques
So we keep on walking
past iron gates, sullen faces
and smoke stacks
through heavy factory doors
down assembly lines
and dry humping of machinery
with the sound of commerce
reaching a dizzying crescendo
in our heads while we
patiently wait for
the bitter end
I watch
and I wait
but who am I
to lead a revolution
when I can barely
get out of bed
