A plague like none before it,
Sneaking past every breath and touch,
This pestilence called COVID spares none,
But the wage-slaves faced a bit much.
Their only fault their position,
Disposability attributed to their role,
Left to the streets with no care or tending,
Left in despair awaiting their rightful dole.
Their arms stretched in fervent prayer,
Their feet marching in exodus for home,
Guards at their own gates clobbered them,
No place to call their own they roam.
Livings once earned by the sweat of their brows,
Reduced now to peanuts and a dime,
"Frustration" doesn't even start to summarise their plight,
Lack of stately help attributed to a bad time.
In desperation cannibalizing each other,
Their wrath into their families sown,
Help I hope comes to them soon,
Dearest state, please look upon your own.
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