More have become dissatisfied,
With a reality to live on depressions.
That finds them even more pre-occupied,
To make comparisons with others...
In the past they were told,
Were the ones they should despise.
While they sat on delusions and socialized.
Since foolish it is today to say,
Those who can get loans to deepen their debt...
Are better off than the ones,
Refused to get any credit at all for anything.
With a believing themselves rejected exceptions.
While the ones who could sign on bottom lines...
And had lived in fancy suburban neighborhoods...
Are the ones discovering to find,
Their homes padlocked to stop their entry.
As they chase behind tow trucks in broad daylight,
Disbelieving their impressions to have made are seen...
Being re-possessed.
'George?
That woman clinching onto her weave,
And running after that truck in stilletos...
Looks a lot like Martha.'
~It couldn't be.~
'Why do you say that? '
~I just saw her an hour ago,
Shouting at a locksmith.
Telling him how to install new locks.~
'Oh.
Well who could that be? '
~Probably somebody doing a new 'reality' TV show.
Everybody's doing them these days.
But then again, who knows?
It could be her filming an upcoming episode.~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem