Wandering Men
Anonymous
Inspired by Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath
They were silent.
They were slaves.
Rob the land for cotton.
Go through dooryards for food.
Cave the house in for shoes.
Starve fifteen children - three dollars a day.
Where would we go for their dollars a day?
They were silent.
For they were slaves.
Slaves to three dollars a day.
. . .
They were silent.
They were monsters.
Monsters in caves, lusting for profits.
Profits for cheap. Profits to control.
Profits born of dollars a day, starved from wandering men.
Caves, where the silent creatures hid.
Men seeking refuge from feeling, refuge from thought.
Refuge from responsibility.
They were silent.
For they were monsters.
Monsters to the wandering man.
. . .
They were silent.
They were murderers.
Murderers of the land.
The land, once owned by men.Men who lived. Men who died.
Owned by love.
Worked with passion.
The land, now owned by iron.
Iron that plowed. Iron that sliced.
Owned by papers.
Worked with iron teeth.
They were silent.
For they were murderers.
Murderers of the dying land.
And as every man looked for who he could shoot,
To make any change, thundering with rifle in hand,
They murdered the wandering man.
