The Next Town Meeting

Over in the city they grow them fat.
Even their dreams have gotten lazy;
IKEA furniture,
A new dinette.
A job.

A car.
You know they don’t even walk anymore.
They buy treadmills.
Their treadmills have cup holders.

When I walk
they beep their angry car horns,
and look mad.
Furious that I could pollute their commute.
Thats why I don’t shave
so that I look like they need me to.
Give them something to bring up at the next
town meeting.

Life to them is just  something to endure,
there’s something wrong with that.


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