The commonweal, the 'fair field full of folk',
has become a foul canyon, ruin's inundation:
lining its precipitous edges, the Dives (dee-vays) towers;
in its deep, open sores, the hordes of Lazarus.
From cloud-obscured penthouses the arms dealers
supply the ravagers below; other towers fund them
by buying out their minerals dirt cheap (a hoot)
so that rape-slaughter and wide devastation
are raw wounds on failed states,
weakening also post-colonial nations on slopes above,
lap dogs to powerful corporations.
Random heats and ice storms, floods and fires,
earthquakes and volcanos, adding to the mass graves,
conveniently create further dependencies;
and Covid stalking down there, nose out
or mask-less in the pressing crowds,
cuts meagre pension pay-outs, anyway.
Periodically financial ruin landslides / mudslides down,
burying the houses of the lower-middle classes
which clamber hopefully up Hell-Cavern sides
sagging with debt, lashed by a myriad regulations
their hoop-jumping inhabitants in breathless rigmaroles
(no square pegs in round holes online)
navigating broken apps unfit for purpose
compliance regulations in niggling detail
constant reviews upon their pitiful performances.
Utter uncertainty 'keeps them on their toes'
one cheque from eviction, kowtowing to banks,
in fear of bailiff agencies that will toss them
wailing down to rental town,
where any welfare is a treadmill torture;
a missing letter leads to sanctions
homelessness, starvation or suicide.
And the spiders on high above the choking clouds
giggle into their pink drinks and say:
'They had it coming to them anyway.
Those worthless scroungers made poor choices;
now they have to live with them. The virtuous
at least can breathe for free our city air.
Can't say I could though, honestly; but they're
used to it - and really, do we care?'
...................
