Waiting for Coffee at Borders

01 Feb
maybe if I sit here
seated in this cushioned chair
looking out the store window
letting go of all that fastens
in a few moments, it'll begin
to vanish? Shelves of rubbish for sale,
concrete hives, an asphalt iron-maiden
tarring the soil black, glossy stores
all arranged to deceive and lure
prodding the senses with gross desires
swallowing, reducing humans
to blank-eyed consumers who lust
for more & more, --want --want --want
to wipe the smile of the sun off their faces
replaced by billboards of whited teeth,
and slender muscled objectified bodies
for sale

few care anymore 
for growing things - 
but doesn't anyone 
want the grass to sprout wild again?
with violet, white, and yellow-flowering 
weeds? -
the bees are dying off for lack
of these, but no one is on their knees
crying out because of their genocide while I
sit and wait, 

a tear splashes the tile

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Posted by on February 1, 2022 in Poetry


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