[Diablo]

Willy Wonka didn’t bother me as much as the others —
but something was troubling them, and us Oompa’s were brothers.
Their faces, muddied with colour, would scathe as he passed
flinching away from the cane that he brandished with each wave of his hand.
We were natives of African pygmy tribes in distant lands forgotten
torn straight from the hands of our mothers to pick his candied cotton.
The wicked man would promise better lives for us all
but there were little chances offered once inside of its walls.
The white-lies he endorses have us sold on the premise
coaxed into regimented labour and deprived of our own independence.
He spoke in a caring, honeyed voice of his “Chocolate” factory
and promised us our upkeep in place of a monetary salary.
It was an offer our families viewed, more with hope than wisdom,
as our golden ticket out of abject poverty in the home we lived in.
They sold their children to the white man who took them overseas
to a cocoa bean plantation that crushed them with our hopes and dreams.
Its old machinery slowly bleeding us dry as it demands from us more
until it’s mechanical jaws have us all pour our hearts out onto the factory floor.
I see grown men cracking before my eyes and left feeling worthless
A shell of the person they were before being broke by the pressure exerted.
Us Oompas were expendable workers he could discard to the side
as marshalled, divided and compartmentalised as the chocolate bars on our lines.
Our skin dark as the finely roasted powder brought in on the wagons
while his pigment had ran as pure and white as the milk that he added.
The mixture imbalanced in his favour but no one questions the practice
of exploitative labour when it’s giftwrapped in a decorative package.
The rest of our families back home believed it was a positive change
Willy had promised them great things, but not a single one was escape.
We sung work songs as we laboured, his suit whistled as he walked,
He was sitting on a fortune, we slept where he would spit upon the floor.
Willy was a fraudster —
The golden ticket holder winners were his greatest trick of all
making pretty sure his bars were available in stores only caucasians could afford.
He catered to his audience and convinced them everyone loved him
selling his public perception on lies, they didn’t call him an inventor for nothing!
Those selected to come inside the factory were heir-apparent youngsters too
The first made clear none could love it truly as much as Augustus Gloop.
Number two was young Veruca Salt, her fathers belligerent princess,
the role was within her interests as her family owned a similar business.
Which is what brings us to Violet Beauregarde who’s competitive nature got
her a greater knowledge of the competition, and also what made them pop.
Next came the prospective Mike Teavee, aptly named for a serial user,
keen on the newer generation embracing technologies of the future.
Yet these experienced superstars couldn’t contend
with what Charlie Bucket possessed; The work ethic to prolong its success.
He knew what budgeting meant and wouldn’t ask for top dollar
If he were to land the job offer to stay around longer than an everlasting gobstopper.
That’s the one Wonka wanted, us Oompa’s would never quite fit in
despite giving our all we didn’t possess the golden ticket — of white privilege.