We pin our hopes on honest
work and a realignment of thought.
The collapsed days of early winter
leave us with grey stripes in a sky
devoid of sun and there is
food to be put
on the table, the people we love depend
on small paycheques incongruous with
hard work and long hours;
the paycheques they shook and tossed and
emptied of 'benefits' so that we
become accustomed to fear
growing old.

Because you exposed truncated hope,
shoulders worn down like faded rocks
by the shoreline   there are no euphemisms
for threats crushing courage and honest
accounts of polarized wealth
must not be eclipsed by
'disciplinary action'.

Because they have drawn
a line aligned with cruel indifference
and it is too late.