Poetry: Broke Rap I

Broke Rap I

Anyone up for a revolt?

There’s a hole in my sock and another in my bedroom door.

I guess the hole I fell in is what they call the “working poor”.

Pokin’ around looking for someone who might relate;

All my childhood peers are hiding behind suburban gates.

Got a fear that’s deep seated for the postman on the sidewalk-

Dropping envelopes billing me for all the time that I’ve bought,

So I crawl back home through the summer’s climbing heat,

Up the stairs that keep me separated from the street.

Gotta eat before I go to work that shift on the grill;

It sucks to cook for others when you haven’t had your fill,

But I can’t hit the grocery store until I get paid,

And that won’t be for another three days.

Nothing left on the shelves but two handfuls of cereal.

A little splash of milk would turn the oat bran to a miracle,

But the empty fridge is taunting me with a disrespectful leer,

So I chew it up dry and wash it down with the last beer.

Wealth can rot away, but debt lasts forever.

The usurers are using us and thinking that it’s clever.

"Job creators" and "economists" are too busy blustering

To explain why profits must derive from human suffering.