something weird is going on
and I think I know why
the milk of human kindness
is replaced by an acaloric
sour, milk-free substitute
and the needs of the overfed
trump those of the underweight
they don’t need no education
they just need mind control
Opportunity is a running
stream but some want to
dam it up
Based on race, sex, creed,
culture
Opportunity offers itself
freely but some wish
to put a price on all
Opportunity would break
down barriers but we are
still trying to raise walls
You would think we would
have learned by now.
If I make enough money, I just might get
A tax break. If I join the 1% and belong
to the right club.
Then, I can schmooze with the right
fancy folk, forget the middle class
joke, nothing more than a pig
in a poke.
Or, maybe, I’ll just become a Pass-Through
Corporation.
And when I do, I’ll make sure
all that extra cash
t
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The wind penetrated my jacket
I hunched my back
Exposing as little
As I could
To the elements
The road was muddy
The gravel spun away
By the numerous cars
That travelled my street
I had no gloves
How ironic
That the cold
Burned my hands
Like scalding water
The mile
To Broadway school
Would be cold
The mist
Like smoke
Escaped with every breath
I watched my feet
Avoiding the puddles
Hopscotching my way
Up the road
We didn’t talk much
It was
As if the weather
Had frozen words
In our mouths
I longed
For a heavier coat
Cap and gloves
Like others had
But they
Were on the list
Of things
We couldn’t afford
A ride
Would be nice
But others
Their heads bowed
Walked with us
Across the tracks
The tracks
That separated the poor
From others
Whose parents
Owned cars
Children with parkas
Warm mittens
Oatmeal
In their stomaches
Often envy
Made me ashamed
Of where and how
I lived
But I told no one
For fear
It would find
Its way
To my mother’s ears
Adding guilt
To the burden
She already carried
The wall stands somber
On that windy morning
Gales blowing rain
Into my face
I look at the names
Finding a school chum
A poor boy
His fate sealed
By lack of opportunity
Not unlike
Other 1A card carriers
Unable to afford college
To find a doctor
Who would shield them
From the draft
He believed
Willing to wear
The green
To fight in a land
Beyond his knowledge
One day in America
Experiencing the good life
The next
Landing in a strange world
A land of constant
Uncertainty
Four months
Of wading paddies
Four months of ambushes
Intense firefights
Then the pajama-clad phantoms
Disappeared
A land mine
In a clearing
A fatal step
And his life ended
Not the homecoming
We wished for him
But we gathered
Just the same
To hear the minister
Searching for an answer
Then sharing memories
Good times
With the boy
We knew
I took the paper
Placing it
Against the wall
Dragging the pencil
Across the paper
His name rising
On the page
Bold letters
I have read
Over and over
Remembering each time
The futility of Vietnam
This morning everything
Tasted like dust
And the lustful blast
Of life and love
Was just a blushing
Empty husk of
Ashes
Plastic melts
Copper unwinds
Lights clears through smoke
Filling chambered hollows
With fiery ghosts
Fitted with the latest gear
To roast the souls
Of the gangster kings and queens
More at http://www.dantindall.com.
By any measure, the unjustly charged
will continue to be shortchanged
and the poor guys living in damp
insect-ridden quarters
will be ripped off by continual apathy.
The sick and suffering
will be overcharged,
while humbly waiting for
a sliver of respect
from the medical profit machine
that is health care here.
The divide between the gilded haves
and those destitute
will remain
to forcefully cleave society
until those with nothing else
but hope rise up.
More at https://hbmorrell.blogspot.com.