Working Class

I am not upper class

Or middle class

Or the bourgeois class

That has come to rule the world

 

I am a working class

And the angry class

And the oppressed class

That will come reclaim the world

 

I pluck the peaches from the Georgian groves

And pick the cotton from the Carolina fields

I mend the clothing from the assembly line

And I clean up the gulf after the oil spills.

 

My coarse hands have bled and burned

My feet have hardened on the dusty road

It is in the process of making for others

That my class status continues to hold.

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