Plutocracy by Alicia Swain | One Poem Only
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Plutocracy
Alicia Swain
In kitchens drops will drip, each brown in hue,
a mother will keep her son from the truth,
the senate will swear there’s nothing to do,
though they tout their care for the nation’s youth.
A man will cast his vote at ten to noon,
his ballot broken down in only two,
he lives inside a fading honeymoon
with good intentions, having not a clue:
disease inside him ticks just like a bomb,
one year from now the hospital will close,
he’ll find a plot to rest…
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