The supermarket swarms with human ants,
All hunter-gather: regimental queues.
They beetle home in cars to cells around
The urban termite-nest we call a town.
Some load their washers: mine’s on programme three!
Or couch potato: the telly’s on now:
A soap, a quiz, the news, Jeremy Kyle.
While others go online to Facebook or
On Twitter. Yet more just get their mobiles
Out: texting friends: the information age!
We play out time by pushing icons right
Across our screens. The bankers say we’re skint
So builders cannot build, or farmers sew
Their seed. The real producers hamstrung by
Those bureaucrats backed by squabbling politicians.
So we soldier on, just seeking out a
Better way.
(C) PB Yorkshire, Friday 25th December 2009 at 14.15.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem