Slaves Of Minimum Wages

He carries plates, he carries bowls

Full of delicacies to every visitor

Platters of sweets big and round

And slides down the winding banister

Of a life full of nasty frowns

Exquisite dishes within reach

Disappear in seconds, emptiness growls

For the food upon which he cannot feast

All his tongue has ever tasted

Is the bitterness of murky air

Not a penny has he wasted

For he has not his fair share

He looks at people who don't look back

Stares at their colorful clothes, flashy phones

While all he's ever adorned is black

No other shade has made itself known

To the poor kid who works for a living

Maybe you didn't hear me right

He slogs all day and all night

To live

To survive

To breath the same air as you and I

To revel in his birth right

The right to existence

Despite it all he barely stays alive

These thoughts swirled through my mind

While I sat down with those better off to dine