Next Door

On the grounds of the ersatz Italian villa next door,
A crew of Hispanics works, blowing dead leaves
And trimming the shrubs, putting down mulch,
Doing whatever else should be done to assure
That the yard of the villa, owned by people
Who never are there, looks lovely in case they
Arrive. It's hard know how much the workers
Are paid. Doubtless, not much; others won't
Do the work. And it's hard to know how much
The owners are worth. Probably plenty; they
Have several homes. After they pick up their
Pitiful paychecks, the workers will rush to send
Money down south to mothers and fathers,
Sisters and brothers. Meanwhile, the owners,
Wherever they are, will write checks to the firm
Which employs the Hispanics, and grumble
That they've overpaid.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2021-04-06 at 18:07

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
This is excellent, Larry. You describe both scene and circumstances very well. And we like the details of the gardening :>)