Surviving the Venal

While the poor struggle, the privileged lawmakers look for more profit in everyday famine.

Surviving the Venal
          by Odin Roark

As we peer into the future
As far as we dare see
There glides effortlessly down entitlement throats
The six o’clock cocktails of gin and vodka
While cups of water appease
Shrunken stomachs in desperation

As after dinner snifters of brandy
Flame amidst knavish whispers of next-day scheming
Prosperity’s throw-aways
Boil tea above dwindling Sterno
Identity’s loss struggles to stay warm

Evenings of silk and down covered comfort
Remain the usual
As cardboard insulation is adjusted
Making another night doable
For the other kind of usual

Tomorrow’s few who can make a difference
Seldom venture past their pitiful hubris
Their custom suits and handmade shoes
Grabbing news hour attention
While the needy languish
Through another empty-dish dinner hour

So goes Washington’s plague of indifference
That place where
Diseases are but for profit
Reality’s ravenous-cries fall on deaf ears
And legislative conscience continues making gestures
Wanting us to believe they’re human

Food stamps for subsistence
May never visit the Hill’s automatons of human representation
Yet we can hope that another kind of hunger for survival
Will ravage their psyche
Come re-election time