poems about society

Window

Getting out of her
Car, she walks slowly
Toward the building
Where she and her
Many brothers and sisters
Grew up in an apartment
Far too small for
Even two people.
She remembers these
Sidewalks, their cracks
And buckles, the chalk
Drawings she and her
Sisters would make,
Washed away by the
First rain, the endless
Cast of characters just
Trying to make it in
A world of hard edges.
She looks up at the
Window that was her room,
Wonders who lives there
Now and vows to help
Them make it out too.

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Despots

When all that matters
Is tearing down
A safety net,
Dismantling vital
Institutions,
Installing a regime
That solely serves
The upper echelon,
Then it doesn’t
Mean anything when
They lie about what
Their initiatives
Will really do
To regular people,
How their cuts
Obscenely damage the
Ability of working class
People to thrive,
For democracy to function,
That the real agenda
Is to redistribute the
Wealth to a few
Lewdly engorged despots,
Mansions re-gilded in
Gold many times over.

Integral

He’s made more money
Than he ever thought
Possible, built an
Empire that keeps
Growing at an outstanding
Pace, year after year,
The clear leader in
His field. He’s asked
To speak to business
Groups all over the world
And is always amazed at
The hush that falls over
The room when he describes
How well he pays his
Employees and how integral
They are to his success.

Hoarders

Humanity-choked street,
Bodies shoulder to shoulder
Hurrying somewhere.

Traffic at a standstill,
Automobiles competing with
Animals and carts.

A small stall
Halfway in the gutter,
Selling sugarcane juice.

Decaying buildings,
Edges smeared
By neglect.

An ancient woman
Sits on the ground,
Hand outstretched.

Smoke, dirt, filth
Permeate the air,
A film of misery.

The hoarders make
Sure nothing
Ever changes.

Disorderly

Accustomed to
Doing
Whatever the want
Whenever they
Want to,
For whatever reason,
With absolute
Impunity,
No fear of
Retribution.

Bullies
Wearing
The right outfit,
Preying on
The vulnerable,
Enforcing the
Status quo,
Having a
Few laughs,
Disorderly.

Aftermath

She sits in a comfortable room
Surrounded by trappings of
Carefully contrived gaiety,
A union of convenience
Slowly dissolving in a
Pricey crystal wine glass.
Memories untended,
Reality makes its presence known
In a million small ways,
The inescapable aftermath of an
Impulsive, ill-conceived
Party thrown by teenagers when
Parents are away.
If she closes her eyes for a
Moment she remembers the
One who really matters.

Fall from Grace

Self-appointed arbiters
Of morality and righteousness,
They incessantly harass everyone
To conform to their vision of
The world and more than
Just once in while
Fall from grace when it’s
Revealed that they’re as
Fallible or even more flawed
Than people who don’t portray
Themselves as paragons of virtue.
After the inevitable collapse,
They sit whining about how it’s
Everyone else’s fault while
Plotting their next steps toward
Imposing a crushing theocracy.

His Business

He owns a thriving company
Which affords him a lifestyle
He never could have imagined
As a child, no one in his family
Had succeeded like this before.

When he attends meetings with
Fellow business owners he
Often overhears conversations
About cutting employee pay,
Hours, benefits, training.

He emphatically disagrees
With this cold approach,
Opting instead to treat his
Workers as part of the family,
People to be esteemed.

His business is one of
Caring and kindness,
Where people are valued.
Sure, he makes money,
But not at someone’s expense.

Party

The only bad thing
About a party
Is that it
Eventually ends,
Although sometimes
It doesn’t end
Soon enough.