Indentured Servitude
They toil in fields
They mine the coal
They slave away to build forts
They put food on our table
While we eat and walk like kings
They bend on one knee
Fan our heads
Feed us our daily grapes
While we doze in a drunken slumber
And curse the names that serve us
And with their trembling hands
That we wash with our baby-drooling spit
While we turn our grand heads up and away
They don't turn their heads in disgust
But turn our filthy feet
To the bowl of clean water
And wash us away of our aching journeys.
When will the day come
Where we grab our bowls
And wash the filth off of
Their blistered feet?
When will their seven years be up
Where they get to share the fruit of the land
They were supposedly promised?
Comments
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cecilymock
Your powerful poem echoes the prophetic voice of Langston Hughes, particularly in its unflinching examination of social inequality and moral responsibility. The repetition of "They" at the beginning of several lines creates a haunting rhythm that emphasizes the divide between the served and the servers, reminiscent of Hughes' "I, Too." Your use of biblical imagery, especially in the foot-washing metaphor and the "seven years" reference, brings to mind the work of June Jordan in how you combine spiritual elements with social justice themes. The transformation from observation to challenge in your final stanza ("When will the day come") is particularly effective, turning the mirror back on society with a question that demands reflection and action. Keep writing with this level of moral clarity and symbolic depth - your voice adds to an important tradition of poetry speaking truth to power.