Turning Tables

An old man was once walking one way

He met a young man who worked for him back in the day

His clothes once ragged, were now brand new

And his hair smelt of some expensive shampoo.

Said the old to the young,

“It seems like your fate has sung.”

Chuckling, the man replied

“I’ve never forgotten the days when you crushed my pride.

Made me your slave.  Took what I had.

Gave me nothing in return.  It made me sad.

I saw the way people looked at me.

Heard when they whispered, “Stay away, you creep.”

It hurt me. Brought tears to my eyes.

But I knew better than to cry.

I pushed myself to find an escape.

From this injustice, from this rape.

I worked as hard as I possibly could.

Fought for recognition. Took pride in all I withstood.

Now the world hardly cares where I come from.

It’s who I am that makes them look twice.

They’ve forgotten the looks they once gave me.

They’ve forgotten that they said, “Stay away from he.”

They bow down to me. A nice change, don’t you think?

For if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this.

A man may be as poor as it gets.

He may not have a home or a roof on his head.

But treat him well. And be nice.

For tomorrow you may meet your own demise.

For when you are gone,

Lost, forgotten and withdrawn.

He’s still around,

Laughing at how you have drowned.

He won’t give you a second thought.

Because respect, like happiness, cannot be bought.”

The old man disguised his contempt well.

Yet he could not help but dwell

On how the tables had turned.

For now, he was worse for wear.

And the pain was his to bear.

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