by Paul Martin | Aug 21, 2022 | Poetry
Worker slaving on the job,Strike a coming, boss a slob,Should I stay or join the mob,Love me, love me. Collie lying in a bed,Wished he had a piece of bread,Better off if he was dead,Love me, love me. Unwed mother in a shack,Baby boy whose name is Mack,Trying hard to... 
by Paul Martin | Aug 21, 2022 | Poetry
The workman that lives in the hovel,The boss that dwells on the hill,The sweat and the blood on the handle,The manicured hands in the till. The dirt and grime of construction,The carpeted floors in the hall,The flirting with death and destruction,The driving, hitting...