The giant beast sat straddling two highways
legs apart and thin cobwebs of power for miles down
a street as far as the telescope could see,
at each interval a bulb burst bright  dangling
in the dark where street lights cast a yellow pool
around the thin pole
reticulated at each junction.

So do powerful men
cast shadows instead of light
across the nations pools of people discussing
dreams of freedom with electricity and water
and food and clothing

The presidents palace came alive at dinner
at dusk under glass chandeliers
suited and booted, gold plated walking stick,
just two kilo-meters from the seething slum.
Diners and hangers-on stood to toast the success
of themselves and the power they ****** out of electric
dams and bridges and diamonds from the dust
of backs of workers toiling
in the pitiless depths of mines
straddling another highway
where the rows of buckets, mud and slime
and grit mingled with the sweat and pain of daily work
for a two dollar night.

Oppression depression counterbalance.

Sipping champagne while the workers
squelched in grime
did not make a difference to the people in power
as all they wanted was to keep the lights on
in the national interest of greed.

Will someone pull the plug please
will someone pull the plug
will someone pull
will someone
Will?
Nothing left of it?