The Class War

Older than iron, Older than vice

The way you trap us, us crushables,

Under your hobnail toe and heel.

You drain us with your quenchless suckery,

You ha-ha rich, you pow-powerful.

Harder than prisons, colder than calculus

The way you catch us, the way we bow low

and still you slay us — no mercy

Or we spit back, and still you slay us

no mercy no quarter.

Older than blood, Older than oil

You count no gods but gold

Age upon age, rage upon outrage,

the human tragi-comedy

That is the humor of it, older than sorrow.

But still

Like a dandelion many

we pop up, the rest of us, sun yellow, sun bold

To claim your cool green lawns.

With our dent de lion, we come against you.

Call us piss-a-bed, swine-snort, doon-head-clock,

Still we come against you, both taraxos and àkos

Disorder and remedy, riot and restoration

We shine like buttons on the breasts

Of marching bands, of marching armies,

Risen and perennial.

Even our old ones, gray and pale, cargo-ed with seed

Dispatch themselves to ride against you,

astride the wind,

Puff-blown and dangereux.

— RRC 2017