A reaction to Politico’s “What if you could get your own personal immigrant” article (with apologies to Depeche Mode):

Reach out and touch poverty
Your own personal immigrant
Someone to hear your orders
Someone who cares for your kids
Your own personal immigrant
Someone to hear your orders
Someone who’s trapped
Feeling unknown
And they’re all alone
Flesh and bone
No minimum wage at home
Just like Uber
I’ll make you a believer
Take second best
Put indentured servitude to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
You just want a slave

I will deliver your luxury
You know I’m expendable
Reach out and touch poverty
Your own personal immigrant
Reach out and touch poverty