Who do they think we are
and what have they done thus far
except make us dogs,
not allowing that a dog has his day or even afternoon?
Sometimes we're barely keeping ahead
the lines that wait for bread
are getting longer
as their wallets fatten
and they smile
but always behind a well-placed hand.
Ain't life grand
and the very rich say they can only make it better
but they neglect to describe
the drought conditions or bad weather
and that their main concern is
They'd keep a pet better than ourselves.
I can hear their too familiar refrain
driving us below them, not noticing our strain
as we plod our final miles:
"Whoopee tie yie yo, git along little doggies
its your misfortune and none of my own.
Whoopee tie yie yo, git along little doggies..." **
We don't care how you fare, we will own your home.
(snickery snickery snick)
They like whooping and yelling and driving us doggies...
and unless we wake up, we'll keep plodding along..
we'll have little left to call our "own."
With brains are made of money; for us they'd go a huntin'.
Their hearts pump warm blood, but are fed by cold stone.
** refers to a poem about cow-punchers or cowboys driving
doggies which refers to cattle. There is also a deliberate
double-entendre and intentional irony, for those noticing.
Copyright August 13, 2012 All Rights Reserved By Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World