beast of burden

Those men out there are so invalid.

They’d rather kill. They’d rather kiss, all

zippers open. So much bang and only ten pockets.

Some people have tinted windows and no license

plates. We know them by name. We count them on

our five fingers. The rest are maybe five hundred million.

Are we all just the same city? The numb of grey.

So many cement mixers and fierce contractors.

Skyscrapers so those without hope can wait in hallways.

Even movie stars can’t get a man to love them. Nothing

is average about the color grey except its color. It smothers

trees. So much paper and blank cheques. Those men out there.

They covet and hate all at once. They fight with no pain left. 

Only a crease around the mouth. No one wins. Blank

cheques and so many donkey carts. This girl, this sun-burnt

hair, all eyes and no face. This beast of burden. She begs

to me with a thread weave bracelet. I hand her my cold,

capitalist Drink. I hand her all my safety and walk off.

I wash my hands clean of today’s “news”: ten in ten

Children starved beyond the border. Beyond sense.

Are we all just the same city? I buy a cauliflower.

Split it with a knife. Watch the maggots crawl.

I run out of garbage bag rolls. Violence smothers,

fear falls like an invalid.