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Master's Home
by David HillBehind the guarded gate,
distinguished designs,
obscene and hidden
from eyes unfit to see,
and they call this a community.
In the spacious foyer
the chandelier shivers and tinkles,
casting prisms at shadows,
from cathedral ceiling to Parquet floor,
plantation owners of a new world.
Self-lies and facelifts,
feasting dust mites
ripened and ready to burst,
fat off the skin of the working poor,
ever grasping.
03/30/2006 Author's Note: I want to bite the hand that feeds me. I want to bite that hand so badly. - E. Costello
Posted on 03/30/2006
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 03/31/06 at 01:29 AM Can a poem ever be called "gently scathing?" This one built, in so few lines, to a boiling point... I had no idea what was going to come from it. But oh, how I share your vision. |
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