“Will Work For Food”
“If you don’t work then you don’t eat”,
Said Paul on Paul re: Thes’lonique;
“God knows what there was going on”
(Conservatives sing out that song).But then again he has a point –
I notice pay does not anoint
Insistence that we work for food –
Just work and eat – and that is good.For jobs are scarce except up North
In tar-sand towns – “Go earn your worth
In Texas tea – black gold”, they say,
Then you can eat the Pauline way.How ’bout if work has pay deferred,
Like writing books about the Word?
Or work on spec as freelance does –
If there’s no sale – no food, because –What is not said, but what’s implied,
A sale is made or trade is tried
Of “work for cash” (just room and board
Illegal is – the “slavery” word).How ’bout the kids with fresh degree,
Loans forty K who income need
Beyond beginning cash and tips –
How do those words with all that fit?And how ’bout farmers on the plain,
Whose value drops – food price the same,
But input costs rise out of sight –
No work, no eat – when life’s not right?For fifty years I’ve worked each day
For ten plus hours, most times no pay;
In eyes of Western capital,
I’m lazy slob who’ll go to hell.While those who scam, and steel, and sneak,
Around Joe Blow ten hours a week,
Accumulating ripped-off cash,
Build bigger barns to store their stash –They’re called the “A” type customers –
The ones all folks in sales prefer;
One hundred K within their stash,
Or more – it’s impolite to ask.The “B’s” are five to floor of “A”,
They’re middling, most are viewed “okay”;
But either they’re on their way up,
Or down to where each day is rough.The “C’s” have little in their stash;
They’re dropped from client lists, if asked;
They mumble something ’bout next meal,
And sneak around, and wheel and deal.One bloke said Costa Rica is
A hell-hole of perverted biz,
With rich holed up behind barbed wire;
Poor cook chapattis by their fires.He said in Canada it’s great –
He doesn’t see that we just take
Our barbed wire fence to borderlands,
And keep the poor in third-world lands.For we’re the lucky eight-percent,
Who bitch about the one-percent,
And occupy our parks and say,
We’re ninety-nine percent today –We’re not – we’re of the eight percent
Of world’s top incomes – pay, and rents,
Investments, all the other stuff,
Whose problem is, “There’s no enough”.“No work, no eat?” Give me a break –
“Keep status quo – don’t re-create
A world like world God had in mind,
Which he laid out for all mankind.”But though that outlook riles me up,
I think I’ve sat here long enough;
It’s time to move – pro-active be –
And see what income I can see.But work? That tie’s cut long ago;
If I had stopped with pay I’d know
Of nothing done throughout my life –
My pay was cut to give me strife.But I just laughed, said, “Make my day –
I’ll do my work here anyway;
If you think working on my job
Will stop – you’d better chat with God.For anyone can gather cash;
That’s not the question that I ask;
How’s “work” defined? Cut to the bone
With that – it shifts the Proverb’s tone.navigation