The Entitled Descent
— poem
Elites descend
from their ivory towers
to the grungy streets,
twisting like aristocrats
mingling with the masses.
I don’t expect you
to sense the tension
when you waltz
past the “No Soliciting” sign
at the entrance,
shaking off the dust
of forgotten fame
where your name
loses its luster.
Did you misplace
the key to your fortress?
Run out of space
on your golden avenue?
Maybe you’d decipher
my frustration
if I hung my thoughts
on the line,
pinning foresight
to my frustration,
swinging a wrecking
ball of disdain,
forgetting your palatial estates
and vacation retreats.
Yet here you come,
self-anointed deity,
ringing my bell
with your worn satchel,
attempting to erect
a shrine of sympathy,
demanding the last of my grace,
rummaging
through the refuse
for vanity’s victory,
blinded by the shrouded
spectacles of affluence,
trading gold for indulgence,
stuffing a duffel
to settle in squalor,
siphoning a plush paycheck
from a charitable facade,
drowning in hollow praise,
waiting in line
to ladle out feigned humility,
unashamed as greed parades.
Your ethics are starved,
and integrity can’t
be bought
with a dollar-a-day donation.
Hands on my hips,
I’m calling out your duplicity,
haunting your penthouse
as you distribute
pretense on parade,
handing out cheap trinkets
while looking down on ruin,
hoarding your luxuries.
We’re drenched
in grime and wear,
and you send your pampered pet,
searching for meager morsels,
barking at the refuse.
Please, let me seat you
in the purgatory of pride,
smoking with
the shameless
sinners deemed sanctified.
Take these weary eyes
and learn to truly see.
Pity, party
of one,
your seat awaits.
