First Worlders

We tend to forget
How most of the world works;
I'm guilty of that, too.
Paupers eke out stability
In narrow margins,
A bare existence,
While here we clamor: more, more, more!
We have too much already.
Bloated bodies, sated yearnings,
Glutton-habits, the foulest need
For acquisition, multi-storied
Fortresses that sleep a dozen,
Occupied by two or three.
And possessions: galore, galore!
To fill the lonely cavities
With uselessness:
Vanloads, truckloads, trainloads,
Boatloads, endless caravans
Of hoarderware. The rubies of the Orient
Were ne'er as precious.

Things-as-things cannot assuage
The ache of vacancy in life;
A pretty jewel, a clever toy,
Soon lose the novelty of newness.
In other lands,
Beyond such privilege and pride,
The poorest scrabble through the waste
Cast off by moneyed brethren.
For economy's sake
They scrape and shave and mend; they know
A damaged frock can be repaired.
Past ownership does not detract:
Imperfections aren't lethal blows,
And blemishes do not connote
A ruinous totality.

This foolishness we humans have
Of breeding children like rabbits, rats--
For shame! The age of attrition has passed;
Odds are your firstborn will survive.
Such cruelty toward them, and their stand-ins,
Family pets, our living chattels,
Pampered, abused, or taken for granted,
Genetically distorted
To conform to warped aesthetics,
To appease our lust for playing god.
(We'd tinker with our offsprings' genes
If that were lawful.)

I appeal to my peers for a restoration:
Humility and sincerity, please!
Pay less attention to apes in the news,
And give up excesses--modest means are best--
Else we may not pass our final test.
The shakedown era has arrived!
We must renounce our fritter-customs,
Become conscientious to a fault,
Or admit that we’ve squandered the Earth's great gifts.