Poem Hunter
( / Connecticut)


Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar

If you happen to be one who brags,
About that which you love to say you own.
And your signature appears,
On outstanding loans?
You don't own.
Your life is leased.
With mortgaged groans to vent as you moan.
Or rent...
Without the accompanied headaches,
As a downpayment for the investment.

And if you insist,
You have good credit that exists?
Your lifestyle is debited.
And subjected to fretful creditors,
Imposing irritable constant threats.

Today's economy has become a surplus of needs.
With a lack of funds...
Squeezing the pockets,
Of those in unseen high classed poverty!
Who now are blocked out.
Regardless of their selfish shouting.

Those who believe ownership of anything sets them free...
Are shocked.
As their pretentions are dragged behind them in plastic bags,
For anyone to observe this process for them who are sad.
Those stripped publicly and left to sit on streets.
That's the only ownership...
Delusions carried with an unacceptance get.

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