Changing Gears
Sam sung: "A Change Is Gonna Come."
So many since then. The politics of
pain and gain, all the smashed windows,
the struck dumb widows.
Mind-works unearthing the terminal.
The young riddled with old slugs
turn to the black hooded judge
imploring hands or clenched fists
revolving around forever sad eyes.
Inevitable change leaving town
to seek new ways
to anesthetize yesterday,
drag racing across tomorrow,
a classic Corvette mowing down
fentanyl induced death masks.
Cords drowning in a levee,
saccharine tunes battering brick walls
with a blind and brainless remorse.
The dead have walked away
disgusted with the dying light.
Change is a ‘coming and it looks like
a killer clown lurking in the front yard
of every sane asylum.
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