Clinking flint on flint
They sat, cross legged
Sculpting the desired form
From the larger rock
Before going on the hunt.
Children clambered in cramped tunnels
Hewing the flints from the solid chalk
In the lonely dark
To allow these few to craft killing tools
And to eat.


Clicking screen to screen
We sit, hunched
Sifting the information stream
Shaping the data
To draw our salaries.
Children spend their lives in cramped factories
Working on small assemblies
In the lonely light
To allow us few to play
In the western world


Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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