Tie for First Place in Poetry: "Growing Discontent"

Machinations from this rusted mind roar to life
as I sit down to juice or stop for a bread loaf:
the persistent rivers upon the weary brow
that repay the worker bee for his woesome brawn
the nobler intercourse twixt keen man and sharp tool
where they cultivate the much too-pregnant soil
those bare cracked hands and hardly made to bear form
under the bitter light of another's farm
my thoughts moving to life strings piercing drunken clay
after leaving seamy bowers where first they clung
myself drifting along with time's earthen compass
to moments of tilling ground and spreading compost
a board room (I've reached an impasse) the wanton trade
of fine goods packaged and long travailings trod
where's forgot the lowly drone and his noble cause
to stock empty shelves with wholesale greed by the case;
and as I lift the hot bread or cool juice to my face,
I'm awed by the farce, and just left with a bitter taste.