"Pardon me, Sir..." -Marie Antoinette [to her executioner's foot]*

One day the overprivileged
will be trampled underfoot
by the downtrodden.

One day the poor
will have nothing left to eat,
but the rich.

One day the homeless
will have nowhere left to sleep,
but your new marble countertops.

One day malaria
will have nowhere left to spread,
but your country club pool.

One day wars
will have nowhere to be fought,
but your well-manicured lawns,

And there will be
no one left to fight them,
but your well-manicured daughters.

One day the Bourgeoisie
will awaken to find
the Workers scaling their wrought-iron gates,

And there will be no
turning us away
like petty solicitors-

For we have a debt
to collect,
and we will accept
nothing less
than The Merchant of Venice’s
request:
a pound of well-fed flesh…

And we will rejoice,
as we warm our frost-bitten fingertips,
on the smoldering remains of your estates.

And we will rejoice,
as we dance beneath your majestic maples,
composing eulogies for the Good Ole Days of the Good Ole Boys…

Gone long ago  
Up and vanished
From here
the bewildering wildlings
Never appear
Anymore
In the form
Of imaginative
Vivid images we
Had envisioned as kids
Overprivileged to live
In a kingdom of sky
In a reverie
Tucked into sleep
Lullaby
An illusory fantasy
Story belied
By the monsters beneath
The wars raging outside
Castle walls we sequestered
Our western ideals
Civilized since the dawning
of time
Isn’t real
And revealed to the kneeling
To its old and gray
Scientific divinities
Still on display
In decay
Preservation encasing
A once upon kind
Of design for eternity’s
Undying mind

Was she there
Or just barely
What’s left of my memory
Filtered fragments
Of forbidden serenity
Speaking to me
Seems to be
Interested
But of course is too taken
By overprivileged
As am I
Don’t deny
What I have
Others don’t
But I’d give it all up
To but say
What she won’t
But she did
Just a bit
Kind of talk to me
Sort of
And was the same girl in 4th grade
That I thought of