Them.

Do they have no compassion?

Collecting my bitter tears to cash in

At the bank,

They pocket my pain.

Them.

My jaw rots with unspoken words.

Anger is green, glowing and stirred

As we protest, garmented in

Balls and chains.

Them.

We make the front pages, the radium girls,

Behind velvet curtains the story unfurls,

People buy popcorn and

Watch us drop.

Them.

Do they have no compassion?

What will our hungry children do when we turn to ash and

Wither away in the folds of

Your history book?