good poems

The End of Another Day

At the end of another
Day on the picket line,
Shouting herself hoarse,
Enduring taunts from
Constricted, angry faces,
Walking miles so that
Others might not have to
Do the same, toiling on
Behalf of the less fortunate
Who have no voice,
She puts her coat in the closet,
Throws on some comfortable
Clothes and lies down
On the couch, quickly
Dozing off to dream
Of fewer battles.

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Not There Anymore

Without any fanfare,
He’s not there anymore,
For no apparent reason.
Divergent lives,
Disparate experiences,
Paths that do not meet
But for chance.

Lack of Connection

She never quite
Trusted him,
Something about
The fake smile,
Overconfidence in
His supposed intelligence,
A general unease,
Lack of connection.

Barely Getting By

A giant corporation making
Billions doesn’t pay any taxes
While a family of four
Barely getting by on
Two minimum wage jobs does.

One Corner

In one corner of the
House, someone was reading
Something that went
Completely against what
Everyone else in the home
Deemed appropriate,
Something so revolutionary
It might actually allow
Some light to shine upon
An otherwise shadowy mess.

Echo Chamber

He fancies himself a
Person of above-average
Intellect, a distinction
Which allows him to make
Pronouncements about all
Kinds of thorny topics
About which he has little or
No expertise, except in
His own mind, building a
Rather robust echo chamber
Where the only thing that
Matters is what he thinks and
No other point of view has
Any hope of getting in,
A complete divorce from any
Verifiable facts, which
Leads him to
Make decisions that
Deeply hurt others.

Somewhere Else

I can tell
As he’s talking that
He’s somewhere else.

I ask him about it
Without receiving
A clear answer.

Sometimes
Questions
Aren’t welcome.

Playing Games with Other People’s Money

A wealthy banker
Playing games with
Other people’s money,
His slippery maneuvers
Causing the economy itself
To collapse, buried under
An avalanche of deceit,
Gets paid hundreds
Of times more than
The diligent person
Washing his dishes at the
Upscale restaurant he
Frequents for lunch.

Formerly Hidden

It was over when
He started spouting
Jarringly vituperative
Untruths and fabrications
As if they were
Empirical facts.

So strange to think
That there used to be
A bright intellect there,
Furtively usurped by
All-encompassing fear
And absence of love.

A moment when an ordinary
Human being can no longer
Contain the inconsistencies,
Succumbing to
Formerly hidden impulses
With feral abandon.