Economist at Fayetteville, Arkansas
“Then who is free,” cried Peterkin,
“In bargaining like that?”
“The union is,” Old Kaspar sighed,
“Just like a jungle cat.
It always gets the right of way
When on the prowl for higher pay.”
It was a sunny afternoon
At story-telling time.
Old Kaspar pulled the window shades
and poured a rum-and-lime,
While Peterkin and Wilhelmine
Looked at the television screen.
They saw a crowd of workingmen
Who tried by force or weight
To break the double picket line
That blocked an open gate;
While squads of motorcycle cops
Stood idly munching lollipops.
“Now tell us what it’s all about?”
Cried little Peterkin.
“It’s Free Collective Bargaining,”
Said Kaspar with a grin.
“The union called a strike today
To force another raise in pay.”
“That crowd of men outside the gate
Believe they’re paid enough;
And being kept away from work
Has put them in a huff.
The union goons who block the way
Will earn their bonuses today.”
“Why don’t the cops just clear the gate?”
Asked little Wilhelmine.
“When unions bargain,” Kaspar said,
“The cops don’t intervene.
If they should dare to interfere
They’d lose their jobs and pensions, dear.”
