The Commute

You Sir, look at me with your glazed, tired eyes 
Proceed to lower your watch, and beckon to be unseen.
But I will never unsee you.

You Sir, look like your body aches all over
While I stand concerned about minute discomfort.

You Sir, have marbled finger tips that have been rounded
by the dirt akin to the rocks that have been shaped by the sea.

Yet, you are proud of your charcoaled hands,
While I shamefully wear my clean skin.
You Sir, are just like me.
Yet, I would like to be just like you.

Give me your pain, and let me ring your shirt dry from
the lethal toxins which they have doused your skin with.

Give me the heartbreak that your metallic children feel at
seeing their father scrape up the meager change from the
corner pockets of the rich.

Give me your perspective, your dreams, and your
satisfaction.
Because, we all know, that you Sir, take pride in every job
No matter how challenging it is to your famished limbs.

No Sir!
The blood has spilled and overfilled the ground with which
we stamp and trot our muddy earth with.
The short hoe has vanished, yet the hand has taken its place.
The back now breaks all over
And reverberates through your side eye glimpse.
Please sir, tell me more
Do not lower your gaze...

No Sir!
You will no longer lower your gaze.
You will one day complain about the trivialities of the free!
You will one day hold your child close and let them breathe the sweet linen pressed up to your skin, while the sun bathes your bourbon skin with kisses like a newborn babe.

No Sir, do not lower your gaze!
Wear your poverty in defiance,
Hold your gaze for our enlightenment,
Stamp your feet in desperation,
Let me witness my ignorance!

No Sir,
You will not be unseen.