Oct. 23rd, 2012

Evening, home after hours of toil,
I deck my room out, dreaming,
in a doze at the end of my moil,
that what I got is worth all that I made:
white cups and dishes gleaming,
to make my bosses richer--what a trade!

Across the city consumerism's waking,
in semis, terraced streets, estates,
in quiet suburbs, peace is breaking
with TV, kettles, radio, and cheap poems.

One by one the windows light,
like warnings on a power generator:
countdown to overheating and eternal night.

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January 2013

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