Poem 4 Poem by Jay Alexander

our homes rows upon rows of brick buildings
as far as the eye can see; nothing is left to chance

here everything works to perfection, like clockwork;
the only surprise a flock of birds flying overhead

or the neighing of horses in the nearby wood,
otherwise life here never changes.

we all look the same, dress the same, sometimes
you can't tell a man from a woman or vice-versa.

all our needs are catered for; we work a lot, sleep
a little; our food gruel, simple, but food nevertheless.

we do not need friends, do not need to talk,
except for the most rudimentary conversation,

they do all the talking here. you don't even
need a name; the day you arrive a number is

tattooed on your arm. the day you leave is also
registered, what more do they need to know,

this is the most democratic place on earth;
it is said, when you die, they'll dispose of all

in the same way.