A Machine For Pigs

A poem

By Dustin Plank (Dusty_PlZ)

Work

Toil

And never rest

The ones who fall

Shall feed the rest

Stock the shelves

And pay the bills

It ain’t worth nothing

If it can’t be shilled

Work, work, sleep, repeat

If you hate the monotony

You can live in the street

From when we are born

Our life is work

We work for money

We work for country

We work for God

In the end, we work for nothing

With our bodies and minds we feed it

And our sacrifice keeps the machine going

How I wish someone would throw a grenade in the works

So mankind would never work again

Simply to feed a machine for pigs

Published by dustyplz

A thirty-something from PA. Lives with his father and pet cat (Captain Admiral President Ninja Master Snuggy). Works part-time as a grocery clerk with the standard greater aspirations of not being a grocery clerk. Writes short stories and poetry when time permits. Other interests include reading, playing video games and revolution.

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