No Port nor Industry
This city has no port nor industry to speak of
the great mass of the proletariat meets
twice a day on the south bridge
or I-81
nameless and faceless
in a hurry to get in front of you
fat, clutching their union cards and cell phones
with fading memories
like that old daguerreotype
they have to make dinner and get to Wal-Mart before
lawandorderamericanidolcsisvuhouse comes on
TV
the revolution will come and it’ll be watched on
CNNMSNBCCBSABCNBCTNTFNN and A&E
It will come in little bits and pieces
one man here and another there
it’ll be the talk of the day
in the cubicles
they are really just horse stalls
I watch them waiting to be turned out
It’s just well-fair with a bus ride
a trade of independence for beneficence
I don’t know what to say . . . on some days this is exactly me. it’s eloquent and sadly beautiful. I think I am one of these horses in stalls. It breaks my heart but services my debt.