interesting times

Would we know we have a problem
Despite what we are told
All is well
on its way,
Hell,
like the Universe
no place like
Home

when neighbors disappeared
and people en masse
abandoned former posts,
in hordes
Left
the right
to the pursuit of a
Life without fear
thy neighbor
of footsteps
of spies
and their subjects
and secrets and probing
We would notice,
wouldn't we?

When every person you see
is rich and powerful
who can afford not
to be infamous?

The poor
neighborhood turned over
and emptied
of change
never was
anymore

on any map
you see
there lies
Borders
between inside and out
them and us,
that and this
is not
Real
life...




Photo credit by Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain]. 
Photo description via Wikimedia:"An old jalopy outside an abandoned stone building in the "ghost town," some of which is still occupied and some of which consists of ruins of the Chisos quicksilver-mining company which operated from 1905 into the early 1940s, and the residences of those who worked there. Terlingua, Texas" 

Out of sight, out of mind

There was no homeless problem in our town.
The sprinklers had fixed that
one troubling grassy spot.

Sure there were a couple,
but it wasn't an epidemic.
The city wouldn't stand
(for it) (up to it)
a chance
against a larger economic problem.
Oh yes, the wealthier town next door,
they had never seen one.

Recent studies have shown
the middle parts, the guts,
are all without glories and good bacteria.
The classless class as a whole
is one deducted paycheck away
from being homeless.
Who knew it was that easy to give up
debt
or not have what we never needed?

At the shopping center on Tuesday,
a decently dressed man sat on an iron bench.
He did not smell bad. His eyes were not red.
His shoes were not worn thin.
He had no holes. He had no major injuries
that could be seen.
His hairs had all been trimmed
his frame hung
loosely folded
staring at nothing.
As if any more could happen by 10am,
he seemed spent,
and resigned
that the show must go on
without him.

He was chainsmoking
and every in between
cigarettes, he would stand up
for himself,
violently punching the air,
wordless and weaving punches
with his whole body
at invisible villains.
He had money for cigarettes.

The shopping center security had been called
by the elderly woman in the bakery
who only drank one cup of coffee
and complained
about its lack of strength
every day.
The restaurant manager
next door
kept his head down
not saying a word
until his meds kicked in,
until he had a stiff drink.

It was crazy, they all said,
watching the man,
boxing the air.
Clearly,
he does not care what they think,
it was lunatic
the way one could live
like that,
angry at nothing.


Painting by László Mednyánszky [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

X Marks the Classism

The night people were quiet and blue.
The day humans fluttered, clashed and clanged.
They never crossed paths.

The winter ones were strong and leathery,
the summer selection was worn and weathered.
Spring would come around
and clear the scene.
Autumn arrived bearing gifts in gads
of epoch proportion.

Meanwhile-
Above, watched over want
Below, held forts in need
None ventured in between.

It had been seen once
long ago, a fleet
was shipped to second
check, the message never
sent to Here.

All told of a peek
over there
where
passers by
wave and meet
upon approaching
the vanishing middle
lies a broken chain
where it was said
Time told them
Everything is different
Now.





Image By Daderot  [Public domain], Astrononmical Calendar, Yunnan, China via Wikimedia Commons.