The Summer of my Cynicism (Volume 27)
Granite are the waters of the earth, the sands of time
blazed to charcoal
blurred with the grime of the millions; only a dime
per redeemed soul!
Lukewarm the tears filling the sewers of a subconciouss
that just awoke
Steadily the manicured hand wields a plastic holy cross
bathed in diet coke.
"Tomorrow will be early" too late for the channel lackeys
to take back yesterday's news...
51 shades of frustration, disarray, boredom; the psyches
of the wealthy quickly change hues.
And while old Queen Life is resting her purse on her rickety
trembling weary lap
gallantly handing out kind words, bonbons and gum sticky
with empathy and sap.
not quite resigned and begging for a "hello" and hopefully
some polite small talk
with the unkind, ennuied, haughty youth who shun her
and get up and walk.
"I hear that the sundown is better seen from this year's
summer hot spot"
Even better if watched behind pointless and trendily
sarcastic brand sunglasses
Nonchalant, they "bail from the scene", leaving her existence to slowly
narrow down to nought,
until she's dust; obscure, forsaken and forgot; wasting away in lowly
antiquated city buses.