Cloistered in a
Secret room,
Away from meddlers,
He exerts total control
Over what they
See and hear,
A golden opportunity
To omit vital chunks
Of information that
Might lead toward
Justice rather than
His predetermined outcome,
Decisions made without
Outside scrutiny,
Sunlight occluded.
I don’t call myself
A feminist, but
I wholeheartedly
Support everything
They have
Fought for
And all they
Believe in,
I just can’t
Tell my family
Friends, co-workers,
They would never
Understand
I am not
Like them.
The smallest opportunity
To lord over someone
Sends him into paroxysms
Of bliss, his true nature
Rears its grotesque head
With surprising facility.
Churning, just below the
Surface, a latent reservoir
Of domineering autocracy,
Impatient to impose its
Unrestrained dysfunction on
The next sorry victim.
Today
They find out
That their labor
Is no longer in
Demand.
Yesterday they were
Assured that everything
Would be OK and that
They had nothing to
Worry about.
Tomorrow will be
Another day of
Wondering what
Their next
Step is.
They take advantage
Of any crisis,
Or simply manufacture
One, to keep the
Populace in a
Constant state of
Heightened anxiety.
Self-appointed saviors
Vowing to keep
Everyone safe
While they pick
Pockets, discourage
Critical thinking,
Hobble society.
Not long after
His fortieth birthday,
Robert gets an
E-mail to talk to his
Supervisor where he
Unceremoniously finds out
He no longer has a job.
It is at this moment
That his vehement
Railing against unions,
Tenure, worker’s rights,
Comes into acute focus.
He gathers his things
And walks outside.
Rabid zealots
Who quite recently
Would have been
Considered a major
Joke now run the
Institutions charged
With caring for
The entire populace.
With absolute,
Irrational conviction,
They demolish the
Pillars of
Civilized society
And leave in their
Place smoldering
Wreckage and misery.
They were once
Wealthy and exploited
Their workers with
Unmitigated gusto,
Their status and
Influence unchecked.
Then the bottom
Fell out, their
Joy ride halted
By a tidal wave
Valuing the common man
Instead of the magnate.
They complain bitterly,
Never getting over
The loss of riches
That weren’t theirs
But for the toil
Of the many.
Regardless of
Steppe or clime,
They band together
Under draconian law.
Subjugating all who
Do not conform to
An archaic, twisted
View of the world.
The suffering
Are always those who
Have no stake in
Perpetuating fear.
