Education, inequality, Poetry

On the conveyor belt

On the conveyor belt
We inspect the fruit for bruises,

Sort by size, colour, maturity.
Measure metrics and conformity
To charts universally agreed.
Only the best to best will feed.

Triple Grade As individually wrapped.
Next best grade in pretty punnets stacked.
Hot-housed ones usually do best,
Cellophane signalling a cut above the rest.

The last let loose out to open bin,
To be picked on or picked up, lose or win.
Some never will make it to be bought
But pulped, juiced or simply left to rot.

This proud conveyor belt has stood the test of time
When applied to children, so why do you whine?

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