It doesn’t have to
Be this way.
Companies can make
A lot of money and
Pay their employees well.
CEOs can pay themselves
Slightly less,
Build one less mansion,
So that their workers
Can buy a car,
Afford a mortgage,
Send their kids
To college,
Take a vacation,
Set some money aside,
Enjoy life.
Inequality doesn’t
Have to be the norm
Unless those at the top
Want it to be.
Wait until every opportunity is
Exhausted, expecting
Something new to happen to
Someone like you who understands
Everything and nothing at all.
Breathe the scant breath of
The persecuted, unleft alone by
Your tormentors whom you see at
Every turn and in every store
Window leering back at you,
Proud of your bewilderment.
He closed his eyes and
Let go of the last vestige of
Humanity. A worship of the
Material, compassion
Succumbing to brute
Force of self-interest,
Fear, lust for power.
He opened his eyes and
Saw the opportunities to
Comfort, care, build a
Future of hope and love.
Growing expansively,
Openly, altruistically,
Reversing history.
Hours spent pondering,
Musing, mulling, meandering,
Committing entrails to paper,
Canvas, string, embouchure.
Kaplunk of feet on boards,
Voice filling the voids,
Light beyond which one
Can’t see; the frown, shrug,
Raised eyebrow of disapproval,
Smile of fulfillment and
Ecstasy, connecting to the
Essence of all that matters.
Lachryma lingering on cheek.
Transcendent gleam,
A bird flying because it can.
At some point
There is a closing
Of the mind,
A numbing of the heart,
An inability to feel
The suffering of others
In any meaningful way,
A grim resignation.
A hardened persona
Forged from years of
Suffering, or perhaps
Only one traumatic moment,
Unable to reach out from
It’s own pain and
Connect with others
Who are hurting.
A man self-made through the
Uncompensated toil of countless
Beings, mistreated, unconsidered,
Property in a ledger.
Affluence and individuality wrapped
In a banner of civility and tradition.
Hushed voices in ramshackle surroundings
Document a different story.
Proud, self-sufficient, bearer of
The standard, the vulnerable are
Expended, fortifying social standing,
Fueling savage prosperity.
Sadness surrounds
The gatekeeper,
So many precious hours
Spent making things
More convoluted,
Blocked, obstructed,
Rather than helping,
Pathological need to
Control driving base lust
For petty power.
Things are more difficult
Around here,
Thanks to me,
That’s how I matter.
Every one of them
Huddling inside bland houses,
Emerging occasionally
To throw some meat
On the fire,
Or let the dog out,
Or start the car.
They’ll experience occasional,
Outsized moments of joy
When offspring arrive
With their offspring
To interrupt the
Stifling tedium.
Nothing to talk about
With the spouse.
Lurk in the garage
Drinking beer,
Working on the latest
Time-killing project
The neighbors will
Endure listening to.
Encompassing mediocrity,
Enforced sameness.
On the second floor of
A beige house,
A young woman writes
A poem.
One simple gesture,
Openly proffered without
Reciprocal expectation or
Ambiguous motive.
One kind action,
Quietly realized without
Longing for attention or
Thirst for recognition.
