It’s not that they’re
Not making money,
They’re making fistfuls
Of it, it’s just that they’re
Not making as much money
As they’d like to.
As has been shown
Time and again:
They can never make
Enough money,
No matter what
The cost.
Those devoted to creating
A world where every person
Fends for himself
(It’s always himself)
Never think beyond their
Next acquisition, their base
Hunger temporarily sated
By whatever petty victory
Convulses in front of them,
A dark scheme promising
Plenty of suffering and
Pleasurable moral tales
To make them feel good
About their depravity.
Having reached a position of
Considerable affluence and influence,
He begins constructing an
Origin myth about how he made
Everything happen himself due
To his extraordinary talent and
Superhuman efforts, unlike the
Rest of those lazy slobs
Who are unworthy of success.
For all he cares, they can
Keep toiling away in his factories,
Relegated to their station in life,
Beneath the exceptional people.
They fight vigorously for
Her right to attend
The school, blaming
Her shortcomings on the
Meager allowances made for
Human beings who have been
Methodically and mercilessly
Oppressed by people
Who see them as inferior
And strive to maintain the
Supremacy they’ve always
Enjoyed over them,
False struggle,
Unearned privilege.
A group of individuals
Gets together to plan
Not the complete domination
Of the planet by any
Means necessary, the
Hording of obscene wealth
At the expense of people
And the planet, but rather
The future of this place
Called Earth, where we
All have the ability to
Help one another succeed.
Shocked,
But accompanied by
A now-familiar sense
Of resignation,
She pays her insurance
Premium, the one she
Was so happy about,
The one that was
Supposed to
Make her life easier,
The one that has gone
Up worrisomely in
Only one year,
Not subject to any
Controls, just like
Everything else she
Has to buy to live.
A barely charismatic buffoon
Captures the narrow
Imagination of malcontents
Who yearn for a return
To the good old days
When they could insult
Anyone they wanted to
And impose their will
On anyone who didn’t
Look like them.
Nationalistic cries
Generating an autonomic
Response of hatred and
Complete lack of hope.
He becomes livid when
Anyone dares question
His authority, unaccustomed
To being challenged for
Even the most reprehensible
Behavior toward those
He looks down upon or
Perhaps never had to think
About at all before they
Got all uppity and decided
To stand up to his cruelty.
A life lived without the
Need to apologize for
Any action, any slight
Uttered with absolute
Arrogance, impunity,
Vestiges of empire,
Purported rights.
Lounging in their
Obscene mansions,
Completely disconnected
From the plight of their
Very own employees
Who struggle to make
Ends meet, to pay for the
Most basic of necessities:
Inexpensive food,
A one-bedroom apartment
For six people, utilities,
Public transportation.
At the top,
They don’t seem to care,
They never have to shop
In their own stores,
Or rub shoulders with
Anyone toiling to
Barely survive day to day,
People become nothing,
Figures on a balance sheet.
