The gavel swings
with might and industrious density
forging profit from the iron
shavings, likely harvested from the
drooping boughs of an uneven hierarchy.
Wood striking metal striking
hearts of gold,
official documents and identification
issued by Uncle Sam. There are no people in the
obituary column, there are only lost profits.
Karen reads the funny pages,
Tommy asks for butter.
Mommy hides in darkness, swathed in
the depressive spectrum.
Daddy, bearing the full yoke of responsibility
tries to batten down the hatches
with nine inch nails and bleeding feet.
One last guilty pleasure, thumbing through
the paper leads
to Gemini's horoscope.
The black and white print reads:
Withdraw from the rat race,
lest your mind be made to fear
and time not spent with family.