you sit there,
you yammering, stammering,
well-heeled, well-oiled asses,
arguing about whether people
should receive adequate health-care
as a civil right,
while meanwhile I sit here,
slowly disintegrating,
day by day approaching
a vapor, that the next winter wind
will casually blow away;
while millions, yes read it again,
millions, face certain early doom,
demise that they will realize
in the stark darkness of some lonely
room, where no one cares, nor is
aware, that a person is about to depart;
unscrew you, you self-satisfied henchmen,
you well-fed, well-cared, benchmen:
as you debate our fate,
we will come to press your face
to the red-hot grate,
and see what then you think
is worthy of mention.

November 23, 2009. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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