Conglomerate

There are no corner stores here anymore.
Even the neighbors that once saw us through
have been bought out by some conglomerate.
The little people suffer what the governors
refuse to make their own.

Mom and apple pie have been surrendered
to a string of supersonic stores that seek
that ever present bottom line of signed
and sealed into another money order.
The rush is so continuous, it beats
us down again.

Mothers wither doing double duty.
There is no more room for soft and safe
and warm. The old and young have felt
the meaning lost. Few are those
who can afford the cost.
Neighbors can no longer count
themselves as a community.
Lock the doors, the boogie-man is back.

Running all our lives while the elite lie in
four-postered beds. A canopy to shade
their eyes, as the rest of us are catalyzed
by prods of all their hurtful reproductions.
The children grow too used to the alone.
Finding ways to get through days -
eclectic, at the best. Electrically imbibing,
while online.

For there are no corner stores here anymore.
While most friends have been consigned to nevermore.
Even the neighbor that once saw us through
has been bought out by some huge conglomerate.
Changing hands to keep us all confused.
Levels within levels of abuse.
The little people suffer what the governors
refuse to make their own. How will we
ever find our way back home...?

? Michaelette ?

10/20/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .