by Scott Thompson

The problems I face are simple:
How to eat,
By which I mean to feed my girls and I
And where there’s a roof
To keep off wind and rain
And how to avoid the traps
And legal snares
They’ve set to catch my kind—
Of course, that last
Is getting a bit less simple every day.
The problems you face are
Equal to my own
So let’s not stand alone.
The things I make are just
Created things.
I know how to make one kind of thing, that’s all.
You know how to make another.
What’s the sense
In fixing a rate,
Comparing consequence?
The things you make are equal to my own,
So let’s not walk alone.