For yet another hour
And tries to scrub the Mexican off of himself.
Patches of his worthless skin coming off
From submersion in the cruel water day after day.
The lines on his face getting just a bit harder.
The only reason he continues
Is because he cannot stop himself.
They said life would be better here.
This is what they gave him hope for?
For less than minimum wage,
His life stolen day by day to feed his family?
No.
He is not a slave.
He is a human as much as anyone else.
Why can't anyone see that?
Surrounded by people that laugh at his heritage
When his only drive is for a new and better life.
His english is faltering.
But his heart is still whole.
He whistles an old tune from his homeland,
While people,
Angry at only the fact that he is trying,
Spit on his progress.
