From hidden cracks and the comfort,
by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Of their protected crevices.
They surface to oppose,
The one who toils.
In a field of choice to do.
To bring them fruit.
From a laboring they did not produce.
To then later sit high as they wave,
Gathered together in a bandwagon.
Pulled slowly uphill.
By that same one who still sweats.
To regard as a horse.
Allowing them to get the attention.
Yet no one mentions,
Who build the wagon.
Or how long it took.
While they sat and ate.
Fruits to spit the seeds.
Dressed impressively on a porch.
To neither labored nor harvested.
Or had a thing to do,
With the fruit they perceived...
Had for them been easily produced.
Yet oppose they do,
The horse receives.
By the ones who value sweat equity.
And the benefits of it,
Others may or may not appreciate.