CONS OF EVOLUTION

Pushing
buttons
feeding
machines

I swear
a monkey
could do
this job

Luckily
for apes
there are
animal
cruelty
laws

Luckily
for the
factories
there are
no such
laws for
humans
_______________________________________________________

A MID AFTERNOON RANT

From a young age
capitalism is shoved
down our throat

Such a young age
so conditioned that
no one questions

Not even years
later with the bosses
boot up your ass

With free trade
delicately balancing
upon your back

Or factories built
on blood and sweat
of lower class pride

Capitalism is now
drowning in it’s own
gorged excess

The news says
things are looking
pretty bleak

But things have
always been grim
from down here
________________________________________________________

ST AUGUSTINE SNAPSHOT

Digging the view of
Matanzas bay from
my motel window

And sound of hooves
galloping down ancient
cobblestone lanes

The haunting coastal breeze
creeps in echoing through
coquina structures

Tourists beat sidewalks
and laughter flows out
of quaint pubs

Patchouli scented burnouts
sell hemp jewelry, bang
on drums in the park

Through it all a fisherman
walks quietly in the
fading evening light

He’s dressed head to toe
in his yellow rain suit
and scruffy beard

With a tired pace he turns
up the pier and disappears
into a sea of hitched boats

He might as well
of been a ghost

And no one would know
least of all him that
he just became

A poem
___________________________________________________________

HUNGOVER AGAIN

They say we
drink to escape
reality and numb
senses but why
hide from this life
that is hardly
even real at all

As far as reality
there is nothing
more real than
languishing in
the shadow of
a hangover

When every cell
is sick and every
sound is a needle
in your beat head
the sun beats down
savagely and the
only respite is a
soft breeze

It doesn’t get
anymore vivid
human condition
becomes your
sixth sense

I wonder
how many
hangovers
I can take

All the while at
work hungover
again smothered
in truth this sad
reality of existing

Staring into sterile
white factory walls
hearing the drone
of old machines

Nursing stale black
coffee in paper cup
wishing it were a
stiff drink instead

 

 

Wayne Mason is a writer and factory worker from central Florida, when
he grows up he wants to be Kannon. His work has been published
throughout the small press and he is author of several chapbooks, the
most recent Poet Laureate Of A Dirty Garage is now available from
Erbacce Press. You can check out more of his stuff here:

http://brokenzen.wordpress.com