Litkicks Message Board Archive

class war.

Posted to Poetry

Most days
I see him on lunch break.
laying on the ground
outside his delivery truck.
his brown uniform
standing out against
the parks green grass.
He is a sergeant in the class war
whose victims lay scattered
in the patches of shade.
dirty faces hugging shoes.
bodies sprawled out
with crazy eyes staring
skyward or to dreams.
these are the dead and dying
soldiers of the losing side.
I join the ranks as I march,
weaving my way to work.