In This Hour Poem by Carey Lenehan

In this hour
Categorized immigrants plod, hands filled with hope
in two directions, with one expression,
muted by dispossession and unsure
whether they will emerge
on the side of freedom, or despair.

In this hour
Low flying stockbrokers fall into ruin whilst
corrupt investment bankers
massage their payoffs
from the decks of superyachts
and fondle shiftless, emaciated models

In this hour
Copper leaves drift relentlessly from autumn trees
falling with the grey children, exhausted by Darfur,
tiny amps of current dispersing, lighting out, switching over,
abandoning the world of light
for a place on the forest floor.

In this hour,
presidential overtones speak in tongues
tangling sanity to a nest of snakes so profound
that madness always reigns
whilst the flooded and dispossessed share only one word.
Survival
No translator necessary

In this hour
hearts begin to beat, icecaps break apart
and species cease relentlessly
as office wall clocks mark time with
the tapping of keys
and nothing changes

In this hour
All will be well, and all will be hell
and all manner of things will stay the same
in this hour