Here is a poem I wrote after reading The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. All belongs to him, even in death, and I have found new awesomeness in his work. Please read and review!

Garrison of the Trust

Hopper, hopper, who name that machine?

That machine of horrid death

Grinding, grinding, the spoiled meat

Spoiled meat with all the rest

Dump it, dump it, it does not matter

Does not matter it hit the floor

Kill them, kill them, kill the rats

The rats now mixed with boar

Waste not, waste not, use it all

Use it even if spoiled

Work them, work them, drive them all

Drive foreigns and Negros to toil

Chem lab, chem lab, come quickly now

Come now, our sausage has turned white

Fix it, fix it, turn it brown

Brown as the sky at night

Chicago, Chicago, we give her life

Life everlasting starts here

Stockyards, stockyards, this is truly a Jungle

A Jungle made of tears

CHICAGO WILL BE OURS!