by J. P. Davies
We, the middle-men
of planetary consumerism,
carry the feast to masses.
Who serenely devour
like too many maggots sucking
from too small a wound.
In our world there is no room
for failure or maladroit.
We must impeccably present,
in pristine and immaculate condition,
the very fruits of their desire.
Or bleed ourselves in the attempt.
Posted on 09/09/2004
Copyright © 2020 J. P. Davies
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Trisha De Gracia on 09/09/04 at 01:35 AM|
You and barbara are on a sweet spot lately :). i like it.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/09/04 at 02:21 AM|
Refreshingly different expression Jordan. Nicely covers one of my favorite topics...planetary consumerism, which seems to go hand in hand with poems covering the way we're poisoning the planet, and thus ourselves.