Right Down Here

Right down here the altitude of dirt emerges

Misfortune hangs unclean laundry

Shoes worn beyond repair keep going

Clothes weep in debt to others

Their strands wearily trace

Long, lonely tears off frayed edges

While the stranger next to me

Pretends not to notice.

Way down here a line of hunger awaits

Relabeled food insecurity

Empty mouths and bellies

Follow their clones

One behind the other.

Carrying borrowed hopes

They exchange them for donations

Leftovers, extras and discarded sustenance.

Far and away apathy sports fake care

Swept over its head in outlandish fashion.

Arrogance grotesquely spews

Lie after lie to placate

So-called shit-hole countries

Including mistaking his own.

Funny: no one waits for saviors anymore

Except for the one right down here.

Copyright © 2018 Charles Edward York

No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*