Here is the heart of the matter:
One percent get fatter
while children starve.

Their parents are
stark-stricken with guilt.
We 99ers built this country,

White indentured servants;
Black slaves who gave all and
all they got was, “Y’all are lazy,

yer not even worth
one whole person.”
They nursed hope anyway.

The Rich are the sons
and grandsons of men with
ideas but the DNA diluted.

Ever see a xerox of a xerox of
a xerox? Sometimes that’s called
Mister President.

The Rich of today
have never worked
or earned their money.

They play Monopoly
using real people as
little game pieces.

They play the game of Life
using worthless mortgages
as cash for their bank.

They don’t play chess.
That game takes work.
Effort is not their style.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “R.”  Also posted at Poets United, my poetic sanctuary.