An Average DayThe guy went berserk. It happens quite often.
The pressure exerted, the pounds per square
Inch! brought to bear upon him by the layers
Of state, its tax collectors, inspectors, enforcers,
Informants, and bureaucrats, also, the spies,
And their counterparts working for great
Corporations, unhinged him. Subject to so
Much control by so many, he fumed. There was
No one who answered to him. Fish in a bowl,
Bug in a box, he decided one day to get some
Sort of vengeance, climbed into his truck,
And rammed straight through the doors of a bank
Down on Main Street. Shards of glass flew.
There was screaming, as one might expect,
But those there who saw him thought this very
Strange: the cops shouted, “Get out!,” but he
Wouldn't move, and he died with a smile
On his face.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 23 times
Written on 2021-04-06 at 15:57
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