Mayday Poem by John Dowdall

The world is not ours, It may never
come to pass that it is truly ours.
Though, I wish it could be, naivety
cannot ever get any of us out of this mess.
A deadening despondency, or so it seems,
has stilted our perceptions of this world.

The bank branch I go to is due to close,
I will have to change my debits and
accounts. Insignificant to me, but not to
yet more thousands of workers added to
the millions of unemployed and then
appropriated to an offstage eternity.
Lemann Brothers will never give you your
money back.

A brave common man, Bouazizi, set himself
on fire on a point of principle.
Then from this kernel of Sidi-Bou-Said,
all Tunisia was engulfed. An ideal arose
from those flames and brought about spring.
Hope to those who endured debasing torture,
in the North African prison, near the contrived
tourist resorts, a stones throw away.

If any man was waiting for a sign this may be it.
We all have patiently endured debilitating maladies
for far too long and seen too many deaths caused by
complacency. The world has a chance in our lifetimes
to improve it. Our enemy will seize the
fruits of our labour otherwise. Our enemy is a beast.
We see your head!

May is a month dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
May we dare dedicate May to the mother of
Christianity and the grandmother of Islam?
She brought a new being into the world. We could
in her honor, lessen hatred, neo-liberalism,
discrimination and injustice a small amount.
Perhaps, it is naive, but even a little improvement
may pay her a little tribute. She may even put in
a good word for us.