A Monument to Futility

The byproduct of LBJ’s Great Society, I was born in the 60s,
and built on the notion of somehow helping the poor
by cramming them into a single location

With the Civil Rights Movement came the political will
to help the impoverished and disenfranchised.
Or at least that was the narrative
that was spoonfed to the masses

I’ve seen newborns brought home from the hospital
and young men taken too soon,
my floors chilled from their spilled blood

Under my ceilings I’ve watched families grow large,
fat on free cheese and processed food
and I looked on as the elderly withered and died
along with their hopes of ever escaping.

I’m the relic of a bygone era
my official purpose remains unfulfilled
But I’ve fulfilled the real reason I was made
By protecting the values of the rest of the trees
in this dense, concrete jungle

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Originally published in The Desert Lynx

About the author
After nearly a decade as a journalist in New York City, Daniel Cuevas now writes poetry for the page as well as the microphone. Daniel currently resides in Manchester, NH.