On hands and knees my wrists move
with the rhythm of my labored breathing,
scrubbing these floors and hoping
that working just hard enough
can wash away the sins of this system
we didn’t ask to be a part of,
dreaming of some restitution
for all the stolen youth,
praying for some peace of mind
in the heads of all the weary
young and hopeless,
imaging a resistance
to the self-indulgent hands reaching into
our futures,
because shame on them
for breaking our backs
with the burden of their debts and desires.