Smoke

Grafters know how industry has managed to breed
Its great deceit:
Whatever their shrewd secret, they kept it hidden

In the same way
They kept the smoke- glass and mirrored from public stare,
Corporate ribbons and the bureaucratic show.

But one dusk polluting, our questions came to bear
Through their brick and mortar
Maze of factories to the truth hidden behind locked doors;

Now able to gape:
There was a smoking gun, conveniently placed in the janitor’s hand
With their fingerprints rubbed off

For trial purposes; the dolt stooges ripe for a jury heckling,
About to be
Crucified, flesh good for a flogging.

The captains of industry wear halos;
Not even one a common criminal,
Unmired, unsmirched, uncluttered,

Smirking faces and knotted wingtips-
Bloated egos,
Hostile takeovers in ten foot moves.

Shrilling their wares
For a swig of capitalism. Yes. These ugly
Colossus bulks.

Sows lounged belly-bedded on the dollar compost,
Fat-rutted eyes
Dream-filled. What a vision hog-hoods must

Wholly engross in
The great white-way; blazoned in armor,
Knighted with a double-edged sword.

But the whistle-blower
With a jocular fist thwacked in the barrel nape neck,
And the president bill thwart;

Leashing giants like noose-knot drops,
Slowly, grunt
On grunt, up in the flickering wind air shape

A clean air blows;
Yet, prodigious in kickback laundering-
The bottom-line shape.

Copyright © 03/05/2019 lance sheridan®

Smoke