Way Down Here
i'm typing this poem with cold fingers.
the past gas & electric bills are monsters
eating our food, quick as that,
lower the thermostat, don't turn on
the space-heaters. i'm wearing 4 layers
of clothes. we're a little above
the line for energy assistence.
i'm both shocked & pissed national
fuel is getting another rate-hike
after a 41% price increase last month.
it's a little insane, citizens,
& we've all been programmed
to deal with a little insanity thru
media coverage & consumerism.
but wait, i'm typing this poem
with old, middle-aged, cold fingers
that spent the past 30 years
in cut-throat factories -
i stand before you, without a job.
i stand before you as a poet.
i stand before you as a father,
grandfather, son, uncle, cousin,
friend, husband, owner
of a big black dog & two cats.
the cost it requires to show
one scene in a film
is more money than we
have. i don't believe
how lopsided we