They cheer the ones
who build castles of cash
and flash their stuff
but step over the man
sweeping the streets clean.

The workers,
their hands craft the world,
keep the society running
but their work is invisible
until it’s gone.

The ones with the money
don’t fix broken roads, open drains,
deadly manholes
they don’t grow the food,
don’t save the lives.

But we kneel to them anyway,
mistaking wealth for worth.