Not a poem about belly buttons

Out or in which are you
who is so languid
to stress and strain
this broken limb on
a soldiers wandering

In or out which are you
who is so modern
to have fallen among
the bare-headed ranks

Out or in which are you
who sat inside disturbed
while the police dragged
your loved ones away

In or out which are you
who saw the workers burn
but went on breaking unions anyway

Out or in which are you
who derived love from this labor
Where is depressions reward?
We dodge like fish between the lines

In or out which are you
who were the child-keepers
of mediocre educations

Out or in which are you
who wrote out of bitterness
robbed of the ability to communicate