Dipped In Butter Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

The stock market and politics.
Just two of the games played.
And invented,
By the elite and those very rich.
Neither of which invest in the infrastructure,
Or the aging utilities.
No one depending on and need in the cities,
Have the resources or expertise to fix.
Yet even the elite and those very rich,
Receive to get...
Whatever they wish fixed quick.
Using exclusive connections they have,
With the ones among the players of politics.

But if it were not for the middle class.
Trekking through trash.
To Knock on doors of those poor.
Trying to convince them it is to their benefit,
That paying more taxes would increase...
To uplift an already diminished quality of life.
And they nibble and bite onto visions of this.
While those of riches have their options.
None of which is to assist the poor.
Or the middle class left.
As the wealthy relocate to distant shores.
With this done to exclaim to place blame,
On those middle class...
Knocking on the door to become poor themselves.
For having the audacity to believe they deserve,
A better quality of life.
That doesn't seem quite the right thing to do.
As the ones of social status and criminal minds,
Line their pockets with taxes obtained.
To remain,
The judges. The jury. And thieves.
While they pass laws,
Between snapping off lobster claws.
Dipped in butter as they utter their nonsense.
On yachts.
Alone or monopolized to philosophy,
Their commitment to a displayed unconcern.
With a side order,
Of couldn't care less.