it is then...
the small people,
common men and women,
who by their hands built this dream,
who plowed the fields,
paved the roadways...
who picked your fruit,
who built your small businesses.
who worked your factories and mills.
who built your homes and churches.
who drove your trucks, who fixed your cars,
who made your clothes and your furniture.
who worked for too little
to make you too rich....
who hauled your trash,
who wiped your asses.
who worked as cashiers, clerks, and salesmen.
who covered for you when you were sick,
yet worked when they were sick.
who laid your bricks, who cut your logs,
who stocked your grocery stores.
who dug your graves and fought your damn wars,
the small people, that you throw away!

no jobs, no work, no benefits, no insurance...
no medical care, no cars...
no lights, no rent, no food, no shelter...
no name, no reason to be!

the small people...
too old, too tired, too angry, too used up.
self taught, no degree, experience doesnt count.

the small people....
pushed into a corner,
stacked in the alleyways.
broken wheels turning on broken glass.

the small people....
staring back from your mirror,
from the darkness outside your window.

the small people...
who are not going
to take it anymore!

Eric Cockrell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-small-people/