Working Class Hero

Gladiators 

(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