and this
I suppose,
is the life I'm living;

bundled up,
walking through the snow
with a hundred and two fever.

handling money
all day,
more and more and more money:
never enough.

taking money from those with too much,
giving it in turn to those with disgustingly too much.

alienated, dehumanized,
I work for those who think of me as a number. 60 hours a week,
I sweat and sweat,
selling a product I could never afford.
alienated and dehumanized;
I toil.


there is no pride.
my eyes: they no longer sparkle.
there is no pride,
there is no relationship with my product.

there is no pride in barely affording rent.
there is no pride in not being able to visit the health clinic.
there is no pride in being exploited.

go ahead, vamanos comradita,
speak out against, you know the worst they can do.

add a black mark next to your name,
call you:
radical,
dissident,
extremist,
in a word: othering

you are othered because you wish to eat the fruits of your toil.
you are othered because you're a human, you're not a number,
you're not a spot to be filled when scheduling, you're more than the recipient of corporate pay checks.


toil, toil comraditas,
there will one day be pride