By Proxy

How are we to ever glide

We who ride the skids?

We live like bottom feeders

And you know it.

Who sold my Dad this race?

No one, I was just born

Into it.

Me and all the other rats.

We are more like society’s

Empty tea cups, because,

We have hold of the dregs,

We are like society’s dregs.

And what is there to sell

When you don’t even

Have your Labour to sell?

And who weeps for you?

Who knowingly would push to be born?

And now sad is it,

That the only race in life you ever won,

Involved a philopian tube?

A race you were entered in

By proxy.

(C) 2018 Christopher Thompson