Fresh Fingerprints Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

This healing will not be sexual.
Nor will decided preferences of discretions,
Be considered as submissions...
To capture imaginations.
Not on this list,
One might wish to solicit.

What approaches is more atmospheric.
Touching lives of everyone near it!
A toxic mist hovers and visits.
And a descending mixes...
To stir those transfixed.

A repayment of what has been done comes.
Affecting those who directed...
Their infectious flavored addictions!
Delivered to seduced those reduced to cravings.

A repayment of what has been done comes.
And now people sit,
Stunned with glazed eyes and affixed...
To quickly barren cupboards.
Where dusts collects,
To show fresh fingerprints!

A repayment of what has been done comes.
As a silent fear on faces appear!
And frozen in place is a once fast pace.
Quickly erased are separating boundaries...
Remembered as clear and vivid!
Those less fortunate and of obvious lack...
Are witnessed now to be turning their backs!

'What has happened?
An economic pay back attack? '

A repayment of what has been done comes.
And those who fed their greed...
Now find themselves without shelter.
Empty shelves!
And to their lack of bolstered credit...
A depleting of it with nothing left to feed.

No where is there to run or hide.
To cry in anguish with anyone empathetic.
Pathetically the bleeders weep.
Pleading for a restoration...
Of needed pretensions desperately sought,
To mask and strengthen weakened insecurities.

A repayment of what has been done comes.
And shocked they are how deep this incision!
How horrific the deceit.
How madness creeps upon them at night.
To drive them sobbing in guilt to their knees!
With no nights to come,
To welcome them to rest in peaceful sleep!

And dug are their fresh fingerprints,
As they crawl in a socialistic sweep.
Devoured like vagrants on urban streets!