Box Office Bomb

My life falls somewhat short of cinematic ecstasy.
The train from Prague has not arrived. The fascists
Hold the continent, two continents, if truth be known,
Their minions tramping cobbled courtyards,
Cursing wealth while being steered by rich men
They're too dull to see. Their paychecks shrink.
They lose their jobs, and blame already-beaten
Bureaucrats for what they willingly surrendered
To their smirking betters. I'm enraged. They don't
Hear me above the corporate propaganda. We
All wait to see what war will bring, not much
Worse, probably. The world unsaved, I still
Sit, waiting. On that tardy westbound train,
A woman sits, and she's in love, but shallow
As that puddle there. The credits roll. Your
Hero's failed, and who should be his compensation
He no longer wants.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 212 times
Written on 2018-12-11 at 15:26

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