day TWELVE HUNDRED and SIXTY

PRECARITY

“Where are the heroes and the saints, who keep a clear vision of man's greatest gift, his freedom, to oppose not only the dictatorship of the proletariat, but also the dictatorship of the benevolent state, which takes possession of the family, and of the indigent, and claims our young for war?” Dorothy Day

While Trump fiddle-fucks around playing president,

Spewing his white supremacist hatred,

Society begins to unravel, a social class at a time.

Anger and violence replace civility and law.

Among the rubber bullets and the tear gas canisters

Pure vitriol flows like acid.

Camo-wearing, gun-toting right-wing extremists

Clad in Hawaiian shirts like the Boogaloo Bois,

Believing they are exceptional and living in a democracy,

Fight their own Civil War against the government,

Amongst the masses of Black Lives Matter protesters.

Dissenters and demonstrators, virtuous and intent on making real change

While keeping their middle class, material-based, consumer lifestyles,

Pull back the hidden curtain of racism in America

For eight minutes and forty-six seconds,

Now a powerful symbol of police brutality.

The top 20%, university educated, belonging to the creditor class, hide,

Much like the orange-tinted racist, fascist faux president did,

Hiding in the White House bunker.

In the end, the poor will return to their sacrifice zones

And live lives of precarity. The well-off will stow away their placards,

 

Get up from their bended knees and

Return to their comfortable middle-class lives.

In this war of dominance, the elite will continue to profit and rule.

And unfortunately, those on the margin, seeing the insanity

Like Mistah Kurtz in The Heart of Darkness

Will remain on the margin.  

--Victor Henry