The rain falls steadily on the foggy windowpane,
by K.M. Jones
Clouding the multicolored rainbow of neon lights,
All offering cheap amusements and drink to warm the bones.
Blaring lights preceed the screeching horn of a car,
The driver late for some inferior minimum wage job
That doesn't even offer healthcare.
No healthcare? No dental? Who cares?
They have a family to feed with bulk, half expired food,
Bills to pay the minimum payment upon, and
Pills to buy, in order to feed that secret addiction.
The bus rolls on, past the derelict buildings, whose
Owners couldn't afford to keep the place up to code,
And so let the peeling structures to rot, housing
The various rats, spiders, and occasional jobless wretch that infested the town.
A hungry child wails from the seat behind you,
Its crack-addict mother too hopped up to notice.
Who cares? She's the one to blame.
What's wrong, you're a teen mom?
Hey, I guess you should have used protection.
Oh, how sad. You have AIDS, HIV, an STD?
Too bad. Get a J-O-B.
No one is going to bother about you otherwise.
You're a drain on the economy and on our morals, or so they say.
Well, you know what I say?
Why don't we stop worrying about the problems of
Foreign countries, and focus on our own deteriorating land?
Ask that to the man in the suit, mommy,
Then will you shake his hand?
Meanwhile, I have my own problems to worry about.
The bus is out of gas.