The Front Line
Early Sunday morning
after the crack of dawn
approaching on two-wheeled transport
they come
Sweat accumulates on their cracked brows
as their breathing becomes hard fought
one man falls behind
more bounty for the rest of the lot
As each one works on his own
and digs deep into bins of buried salvage
to later collect and sort to bring
to centers for underground currency manage
For each of them is a footsoldier -- yes
for the frontline of the economy
beyond the grasp of a workers fee --
an employee, self-employed, with no hierarchy
For theirs is the freedom to be --
in all its simplicity
Garard Kuc
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│"Beauty without grace is the hook without bait." │
│-- Ralph Waldo Emerson │
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