A Little Graft

A Poem

Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

It was a game of always taking,
Picking up what we were making,
Hiding it in our pockets,
And padding out the dockets,
To some, the life came easy,
But others it made queasy,
But there were rules to our game,
On the shop floor, we were all the same,
And eventually every naysayer,
Was made to see they were a player,
Or a bystander at best if they swore to keep their silence,
Given a reminder of the inter-reliance,
Of life…