Saw the fog envelop the road
Housing the bums existing in boxes
Where the rats live
Beneath the feted rich
In the glass-fronted towers
With poor doors for the black ones
To wait on them as they debate
Issues of pressing concern
Like a "hard working" mantra
While observing personal increases according to every conceivable current account.
Saw the fog envelop the road
And the eyes of the left behind
Fix a middle-distance glimmer
On the kill.
No comments:
Post a Comment