A poem for labour day

by Oblogatory poet laureate Samuel J. Bones-Twaddle

Toil, sweat, exertion and effort

These and the quill, my constant companions

The nib is my shovel, the ink is my mop

The sheaf is my factory, the thesaurus my employee assistance program

Though I toil not in ditches in three-digit heat

Nor labour in kitchens frantically assembling overpriced comestibles for the likes of pampered patrons not unlike myself

Though I worry not of the cave-in, the deranged fare, the pink slip, the heat stroke, the amputation by machine nor the unforeseen lunch rush

I suffer my own cruel indignities; the rejection letter, the memories of loves lost, paper cuts, ink smudges

And so in solidarity do I repose, my worker brothers and sisters

And so in solidarity do I repose