They pay us just peanuts and I am allergic
Choking while they say I should be grateful and
Point at those who choke from the sprays
Foisted in their faces from behind masks
When their own masks are made crimes
Point at those who suffer no food allergies
Who never suffer from them
Or from bulimia, either
Point at those who suffer maiming and loss and death
While they sign the checks cashed in with that suffering
Others reaping the rewards of their investments
Red fruit left to rot in far-flung fields
But, yeah, I ought to be grateful

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