poems about society

Whispers

He’s worked long hours
For many, many years,
Serving demanding patrons who
Often barely notice he’s there.

Every two weeks he checks
His bank account to make sure
His money has been deposited,
The future at stake.

Today his daughter found out
That she has a scholarship
To the local university’s
Medical program.

A couple of tables down,
A woman leans over to
Her husband and whispers
About the foreigner.

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Glorious

They come in the
Middle of the night,
Unannounced,
Uninvited,
To pay a harrowing
Kind of visit where
The host disappears
For as long
As necessary to send
A clear and unequivocal
Message that dissent
Is not tolerated and
That there will be
No protesting against
Any of the glorious
Policies which have
Brought everyone
To this point.

No Other Way

Let’s go back
To those heady days
When we could own
People as property
And not pay them
For their labor.
Let’s work them
Until they drop,
Night and day,
As we become
Increasingly wealthier
At their expense.
Let’s close our eyes
To their suffering,
Supplications for mercy
Falling upon hardened
Hearts unable to feel.
As we sip mint juleps
At a garden party,
Lets pretend there’s
No other way to
Do things.

Supporters

This is what
It comes to and
What it’s always
Been like.
A human being’s
Life extinguished
By a system that
Doesn’t care for him,
About him,
Or his kind,
And a person who
Fears him.
Rabid supporters
Line up
To perpetuate
The sad narrative.

Dinner Table

We all sit at
The dinner table,
Silently eating
What mother has made,
Talking only
When father decides
It’s appropriate,
And then only about
The approved topics.

Hierarchical,
Authoritarian
Narrative.
Bowing to the master,
Waiting for the
Next instructions to
Allay our discomfort.
They always
Know better.

Work Unorganized

Work eagerly so we can
Pay you less.
Work efficiently so we can
Cut other jobs.
Work reliably so we can
Ask you for more.
Work energetically so we can
Make more money.
Work dejectedly so we can
Erase benefits.
Work loyally so we can
Leave you hanging.
Work unorganized so we can
Do what we want.

Anomaly

He sits rotting
In a cement cell,
It was predestined,
Really could not
Have turned out
Any other way
Given the brutality
He faced as a child,
Abject impoverishment,
Empty stomach,
Mind developing
Without the benefit of
Dignified schooling,
Moldy leaking ceilings,
Insurmountable odds
For anyone but the pompous
Blowhards who pontificate
About how anyone can
Pull himself
Out of misery without
Any help at all,
With an entire system
Rooting for his failure.
Sure, the occasional
Anomaly escapes the dungeon,
The one in one-hundred thousand,
Held up as an example
Of real opportunity,
But only an exception to the
Rigged rule,
The countless others ignored.

Corridors

A closed door,
Only one key
Opens it but
Not the one she
Has, nor will
Ever have.
They have seen
To it that she
Only has access to
Certain corridors.

Lofty Words

Lofty words about
Compassion and love
Give way to more
Mundane needs for
Company and belonging,
Deeper desires for
Control and power.
They gather together
And talk about
Being good people,
Doing good deeds,
But there’s always
That bit about
Being the chosen ones
Or excluding others
For not being
Like them.
Inequality promoted
In congregation.