I stand at the bus stop
in the pouring rain
with no direction home
lost and all alone
as my life hangs out of balance
at a sullen sunken milestone
river stone low.
in the midst of a century defining
globe gripping pandemic;
I've caught the contagious
wave of anger and fear
spreading through the uncertain
lands of our decaying earth.

With no sight of parks
fields, trees or subtle shrubbery
in our natural habitat
of tar, steel, bricks and plastic,
I fight the exhaust fumes
for fresh air
and square up to long-neck
smoking factories chimneys
for a whiff or for a sniff
of the oxygen laced good stuff.

Faces half as visible
as they should be
yet filled with double the pain,
are gaunt and hanging low
in surgical face mask hammocks
on retrenched and laid-off holidays
of one-way tickets
flying no-where
and crashing landing in
recession and depression.

When Socrates took his hand
off his chin for elbow grease relief
he had a point to his
hatred for democracy
when practiced with errors
and in the wrong hands
of tyrants and capitalist bedfellows
selling the state to
the highest bidder
at lunchtime tee-offs and;
blood brothers deal in national
genocidal nepotism
crippling economies with
jabs and hooks of corruption.

Army troops march and tanks cruise
within their own home borders
along their own scared stiff streets
to shrieks of 'please don't shoot'
and pleads of 'i can't breathe';
a modern Cain and Abel sob story
of brothers killing one another
and father's sacrificing their own sons,
daughters, wives
for childlike carefree irresponsibility.
Broken and divided countries
match the torn apart families -
            where do we belong if don't
have a place to call home?

Don't stop the music
move your shuffling feet
to your own beat
your voice is a roar of truth
that pokes holes in reality tv
sensation news stations
who sold your rights to truth
for chips and stocks
to the wall street scavengers
who write scripts of their own
real news reels
without human thoughts or feelings,
based on calculated investment profits
for their pockets.

Howl into the night
and strap in for the fight
before more children,
parents, grandparents die
at the hands of their ticked
selected protectors
who smiled at rallies
and in front of photo op shots
but shot rubber bullets,
and turned the streets
into friendly fire gas chambers;
show your resolute colors,
sparking the flames of flairs -
rise up and show up at ballot booths
and stand up for true news

your country needs you.