poetry

Us Wild Ones

Humanity
Keeps you in it’s grid
With their—
Laws
Religions
Social expectations
Adverts
Healthcare plans
Retirement threats
High rents
Low wages
With
The fear of local news whispering to you loudly
And most of humanity
Locks up in this grid
Of today’s society
But not all
Not the insane
Not the crazed
Not the drug users
Not the entrepreneurs
The artists
Intellectuals
Or the fortunate
No
Not all
Of humanity
Is tamed

money in the toilet

who do they think they are?
to fill the urinal with coins,
when there are at least 3 homeless men outside
do these men of money
demand that those in need must be humiliated
before they are given a pocketful of change?
I didn’t like it
I wouldn’t have it
I dove my hand into the urinal and took all the coins out
washed them in the sink
then dried them with folded paper towels
on my way out of the bar
I handed the coinage to three homeless men
who looked to be in their upper fifties
the men were much appreciative
they smiled lovingly and called me ‘brother’
as I walked on home over the Longfellow Bridge feeling my drunk
I listened to a crew boat coasting lightly
atop the Charles River
and felt the warm breeze that Boston summers release
in my thoughts, I envisioned the men who had tossed the coins in the toilet
and as I looked to where the lamp light of high buildings reflected on the
ripples of the rower’s small wakes
I thought of mean men of money
I thought,
“You little bastards”

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