And I’ll be Dust to dust Bound to,
Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,
By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated
At least,
By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they
Flashing manicured smiles, we
Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,
Leather of the season, bound
To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting out frappuccinos, just
Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.
Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦
-short evocative poetry-
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: capitalism, debt, equality, poem, poetry, youth