The whiskered workers wind their ways along
The tunnels, tense with too much tough demand
Upon them. Quick and quaint, the Queen requests
They do their duty, dig and dredge their nests
And find the food for all to feast – a brand
Of justice promised, paid by plea and prong.
They’re promised beauty, but they’re blind, bereft
Of choice, they choose their chattel life. They cheer
The Queen who rules the rest with righteous reason,
The smooth pink skin is split by her in season
As punishment for making movements mere
Moments too late. The lonely low are left.
The people pleased by power pray that we
Will finally find our fate and follow them
Into the tunnels so the taught can turn
The rest around – a rat’s nest rulers spurn
And jeer, while jawing, “Justice is a gem,”
To them they flail and flog. “We’ll force you free.”
The naked mole rats nest in narrow naves,
Obeying blindly, bound by DNA,
They live a life the liars love to preach,
For man a terror twisted tempters teach.
Such subtle slavery simply spurns the clay
That man is made of – most aren’t merry slaves.