Requiem for the American Worker
I hear America crying
across the flatlands, hill and dale.
Embittered tears of weary souls
the beaten down, the proud.
American workers holding on
with a cry in their voice.
Fighting hard to not be counted
among the growing poor.
The waitress at night with a babe upon her breast,
The coalminer tired of his long rest.
The automobile worker doing her best,
The bakery is closing, the baker is next.
The bus driver without a human load,
The young black man never given a chance.
The hospital worker called off, worries how to pay the rent.
Telephone workers marching, out in the cold.
Voices, hands, and hearts
traded for those across the seas.
The small, American farmer
still fighting hard to believe.
I hear America crying,
as those “who have”,
with no remorse, no guilt,
build empires upon the workers backs.
Americans trying, trying, and trying.
I hear America crying.
Written by: T.C. Holland c. 2006. Published with Permission.
*Originally published in the Labor News, Indianapolis, In., Feb. 2006