They've backed themselves into a corner.
Now they wish to have someone comissioned...
To paint scenes of the Bahamas on it!
Envisioned still is a crystal chandelier...
Softly lit.
To romanticize the falling chips,
From long neglected ceilings.
And I see them now...
Leaving from their backdoors.
Where they use to greet the 'help'
Frisked before ordered...
To go inside and clean.
To leave these doors now in despair.
With heads down.
Carrying plastic bags,
To fill from a foodshare giveaway.
And to return inside to darkened walls.
Where joy and happiness...
Have both been asked to leave.
I see them...
Entertaining their decreasing whims.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem