Boxes

Here behind this screen

hidden by a curtain

we make our choices

from freshly printed slips

 

then after dutifully boxing

we retire to our own boxes

our beers and unfulfilled dreams

to watch the wranglers

 

With their handshaking routines

their hallmark smiles

making promises we know

they won’t keep but what

 

The hell, we sent our boys

to the east didn’t we

and they came back boxed

didn’t they. some businessman

 

Just like you and I made

a killing in wooden boxes

another printed those millions

of unused slips now fluttering

 

To garbage heaps, pocketed

wads of deflating dollars c’mon

who cares we all did our duty

democracy that’s what we call it

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© Johnmichael Simon

2008

.