Poetry-20

Jason

Here they come, crawling outta the wood works! Can you hear the twigs break, their nails scrape, as they crawl their way out the narrow gaps in the factory? Skin stained, dirt littered hair and empty bellies? They just came up for some fresh air, they exclaim, as they sniff out the feast they had no part of, until they find it, asking “Can I have some?” And how quickly they retreat back below, once denied, as if the boss was calling their name.

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