Who are these people?

I baked them bread. I made them welcome
And they left **** and ***** on my lovely carpet.
They smiled as they stole my Gramma’s silver teapot
They pulled down the curtain in my dressing room
And mopped the bathroom floor with it

They each got a Jeep in ’59, parlayed it
To a better place to be and live
And perfect superior attitudes that
delegate those with rounded eyes
To the lonely space beneath contempt.

Who are these people?

I learned their songs and sang along
But they stole my record player
And sold it for a dollar ten
And gave me only half the money
Saying that was all they got.

They rob their kids of childhood games
To run the shop and study hard
To be the best at everything
And social mores and etiquette
Are something for the native born.

Who are these people?

I helped them when I saw a need
And never got a thank you
I smiled when they pushed me aside
To reach the goodie table first
And take the biggest piece.

They piously bow heads to pray
On entering a holy place
(That serves as Country Club)
To listen to the words of God
And leave to serve the devil.

Who are these people?

They are the winners in an evil game
A hive that can’t be overcome
I watch myself go down in flame
And wait for justice to be won.
                      ljm