stiffs
if there are no atheists in foxholes
then there can surely be no god fearing human beings
in the office or the warehouse
accepting in return for their faith and devotion
a forty-hour work week chained to a desk
the sales floor or the stockroom
fifty weeks out of the year
for three to six decades of this unreasonable insanity
and there can be no rational human being
who accepts this fate for what it is
without becoming dependent on drugs or alcohol
church or hollywood entertainment
or perhaps it is that we endure like stiffs
taking our pittance as just due
living in fear of being unable to provide
for our families or ourselves
worried that we’ll be let go at any moment
for the shape of a haircut or the length of a skirt
and sent to drift in the outskirts of the colorless babylon
and there is no love
no friendship
no devotion strong enough
to help one truly escape this fate
for we are all partners and prisoners to this horror
locked into this self-created system by a base desire for survival
and there are moment, yes
an orgasm or a sunset
to help keep the stench of servitude away
if for only a moment or a few hours
but these anchors of sanity are as fleeting as the wind
they seem unreal
when we are pushed back into this
carousel of the damned working stiff
fracturing our souls and cutting short our dreams
for our profiteering masters bottom line
killing the good years for a whiff of the almighty dollar
my christ, it’s such a cruel joke
that we’ve played on ourselves
that they’ve played on us with our time and our life
there should be executive and administrative blood on the
streets
swirling crimson rivers of madness and anger
from the homicidal march for salvation by the masses
only there is not a peep on these streets
there are no effigies either
just the docile acceptance of the working man
stuck in traffic on another lost morning
drinking dirt coffee out of paper cups
as radio blowhards offer stale homilies
taking more work for less pay
as either a penance or an award
trained dogs
trained monkeys
weeping lions hiding in the back of a piss-scented circus
cage
the fight stamped out of us
taking these prescription drugs of marvel
that will keep us alive longer
sucking at the resources of the planet longer
wielding hammers and the pickaxe
manning the cash register or chained to the desk
for years longer than we’d ever imagined
feeding social security beasts that deplete by the hour
until our addled bodies give out
on sales floor america
in officeland america
in gloomy warehouse america
where the newly installed corporate morgues of the future
are being built to keep us on us ice
then we can kill three birds with one stone
retirement
funeral and burial
a gold watch and a company mug
handed over to our dumbstruck spouses
for services rendered
a glossy slab of marble
an american flag and a pot of flowers for you
on a hillside plot in the company cemetery
just a few quick paces away
from the employee parking lot
where a new, choice spot
has just opened for rent
close to the front entrance of the building.
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