March, march, march, marching to the beat
The rhythmic pounding of a hundred feet.
From porch to mill, making no profits
The sharp, stinging, rattle of empty pockets.
Yet another day, overtime with no break
The grinding metal jaws of one critical mistake.
A family in debt, a wheelchair brand-new
The sorrowful emptiness of a now useless old shoe.
Poetry Terms Demonstrated:
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