Marketplace

Like a fuming engine, we rattle on

Fearing the day when we come to a

Lonely halt on some dusty desert road.

Our mechanical arms turn and twist

In a macabre dance worshipping

A god that’s black as coal, slick as oil.

He sits on his throne in a warehouse

On the docks, and surveys our offerings.

We bring our mothers, and our children

Whom we exchange for shiny toys

We wow to give all our selfish love to.

Hagglers of bodies and souls wave

Clever contracts for us to sign;

We shrug our weary shoulders, and

Scribble our worthless names on the line.