Friday, August 17, 2012

Working Class Hero

(Yet slaves nevertheless )
Punching clocks after 16 rounds
     drenched in blood, sweat, and debt- 
          on red-eye mornings
          sipping comatose tea
          with drug-induced delusions
     choking on gusto, poison pride, and undead resolve
          the puss of the "American dream" seeping through paper-thin skin
          ...from burrowed-out joints 

Staggering from paycheck to paycheck
     Chained to the cave of routine
          chilled by the warm content of fulfillment
Satiated by provision and survival; Pacified by honor and duty
     While the Monopoly man feasts on the bones of their children
     living on Boardwalk and passing off the luxury tax
          (you're camped on Baltic Ave.- if not in jail)

("Keep your eyes on the prize…") 
     so anxious for rain they spit on themselves just to feel wet…
     baptized in their own disease
pounding on St. Peter's gate with a bluesy rap 
     binging on crackers and drunk on vinegar
          like some brain-dead zombie too tired to re-consider 
          ...crippled by bloody knees and schizophrenia 
     but the Olympics don't offer the wheel 

And always fat cats lurk around dark corners 
     with top hats, monocles, and Ferraris
     sweating with withdrawal; anxious to pounce 
But this is not ancient Egypt
     and there is more than one way to skin a god

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