Give me your billionaires, your millionaires, your Wall Street financiers;
Give me your Ponzi-Schemers, your entrepreneurs, your one-percenters;
Give me your venture-capitalists, your silver-spooners, your oil men,
as they sit in the parlor of their Fifth Avenue apartments asking the butler,
“What sort of wine shall we have with our arugula salad this evening?”
Give me your middle class, your forty-seven percenters, your blue-collar workers,
your small businessmen, your professional office workers,
your lawyers, your engineers, and your politicians,
as they walk through the produce section,
and contemplate the rising cost of arugula.
Give me your broken-downs, your homeless, your hobos, your welfare recipients,
your poor, your disenfranchised, your chronically unemployed, your low-income earners,
your beggars and bums, your slum dwellers and disaster victims,
as they stand in the unemployment line and ask themselves,
“What the hell is arugula?”
