Let filthy riots sing!
After all,
all they screech about is how their labors had
borne no fruit, and yours did.

For them, need-be was constantly.
As your lips drank from china,
the steady stream of tea
swallowed them
downward…
the economy; an unforgiving sea.

Enterprising the safety of your wrath,
they over spill
they over keel
and no longer kneel
to your china cup.

They clash homemade tools with your
gold inlaid guns.
They are the correspondent to your annoyance with a bug
while you are their sport of an ailing fun…
Look at you! You have the tiny rebels on the run!

So let filthy riots sing!
After all,
all they screech about is how their labors had
borne no fruit, and yours did.

But
may you admire a rebel’s bravery:
It mimics you in youth.

And along their dreadful while,

may you encourage their disputes.