working to understand
Little Hector and I were wire
brushing the wrought-iron
fence that surrounded the
graves of Otis, Miles and
Dolly, all award-winning
beauties; blonde, postured,
blood-lines of royalty if
the humans who owned
them were to be believed.
Little Hector was telling some
tale or another of back in
the day when he drove for
the cartels until he fell
in love and didn’t want to
end up headless or raising
pigs to sell for slaughter
to the corrupt, so he
followed the trails north,
passing more dead bodies
than he had ever seen while
working for the men the
songs on the Spanish station
were written about.
He asked me why people
in this country I was born
into erect fences for their
dead animals but those
who built the fences and
dug the graves received less
respect than the piles of
fur and bones decomposing
beneath our feet. He asked
me who would bury him if
he died in the canyon or fell
from a roof he was tiling.
I had no answers.
He half-joked if he were a
dog he’d have papers, a home
to live in, he wouldn’t have to
be a beast of burden anymore,
strangers on the street
would stop to love him.
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For today's prompt, I want you to write a work-related poem. Work doesn't have to be the main feature of the poem, but I want you to "work" it in somehow. And remember: There are different types of work. Of course, there are the activities that gain you fortune and fame (or not), but then, there's also housework, exercise, volunteering, etc. I'm sure you'll "work" it out
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To those of you this poem pisses off I suggest you boycott fruit and vegetables in protest. While you're at it you should not eat any meat that has been packed and request dirty dishes when you go out to eat. Thanks!