Wednesday, June 5, 2013

poem of the day 06.05.13


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

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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