MY DARLING OF THE NYLON ARMPITS
My darling of the nylon armpits.
I can’t pick you up.
Two-year old and a grandma writhe
in crocheted vermillion.
It’s fun and annoying.
Points of principle see no resolution.
Are you programmed to wriggle my little piglet?
Why don’t you want picked up?
You have armpit tone when it suits.
See the train that no longer says choo choo.
Feel the wind that closes your eyes.
See from this height.
I want to show you life from this level.
You and me - naughty and haughty.
See what there IS.
IS is exciting like a Russian doll -
four live generations to my little squirmer.
Let me tell you about everything.
Let me show you seeds and water.
Sun and grapes.
Let me show you drainpipes and lace.
Impudence and grace.
Let me infuse your mind.
My darling – when you are willing.
Arms down, straighten that ribcage.
My pick-up thumbs will lovingly engage.
THE GANGRENE OF GREED
A ratio of one in forty-five is now one in forty-eight.
Sitting on a trembling time bomb of proletariat hate.
There’s a gulf in prosperity and the god that was Mao
is replaced by the money god to whom all kow-tow.
The poor man’s dirt poor and can’t buy his health care.
The rich man in his opulence cares not about welfare.
He has a diamond studded watch. His taps are gold.
His huge heating bills are negligible; he’s never cold.
The pauper grovels in dirt; has no means to clean.
He’s out of employment and his existence is lean.
He roots around in the garbage for a morsel to savour.
He doesn’t expect charity; it’s never in his favour.
The first’s thought of the other is generally fleeting.
After all he has earned his crust in many a meeting.
By wheeling and dealing and dabbling in fraud,
he stands proud of his wealth before his money god.
The second has no education or nous to devise escape
And all that’s left is to scratch, scrimp and scrape.
His dream of comfort is a longing that will never abate.
He sees from his fate how some lives can never equate.
The pressure of the gulf pushes him out in the cold.
He’ll never span the hiatus before he grows old.
The depth of his helplessness does not compare
to the height of the avarice of those who won’t share.
As the time bomb trembles, it’s a dangerous time.
People are talking about what’s yours and what’s mine.
The under-privileged are quietly measuring status,
telling the whole world not to falsely estimate us.
Socialism means paying for the poor through taxes,
giving those who are willing a chance on life’s axis.
Let’s spin Capitalism and Socialism; they can co-exist.
Let’s know from Temptation what’s there to resist.
The gangrene of greed grows freely in Corruption's fist.