The Abuses Of Capitalism Poem by James McLain

the man in the black suit grins,
his teeth like dollar signs,
his hands like steel traps,
always closing, never giving.

the woman at the register counts pennies,
smiles thin as old bread,
watches the clock swallow her hours,
spits her out broke.

the streets hum with hunger,
cars stacked like coffins in traffic,
glass towers reflect the empty faces,
while somewhere,
behind mahogany doors,
a fat hand lifts a gold pen,
signs away another hundred lives,
lights a cigar,
and calls it freedom.

or in it's most simplistic form, a way to strip people from their hard earned money,
without going to jail.