Trickle Down
Half a dozen nuthin’
a quarter pound of loss
a bit more downward moving
counting up the cost
eat some processed sugar
standing in the rain
swallow lies of someone
higher up the chain
fill my empty pockets
with lint and empty words
hope I don’t get locked up
or put before the sword
whistle past the graveyard
while trying to get a taste
of what the high are hording
as I tighten belt at waist
seems this trickle’s warm
and a wee bit yellow
why do the rich
have to piss on us below?
– Smith, 7.24.2016
