JOHN GREY

 

 

The Idle Rich

 

They are plain incapable,

lend themselves to comparisons

with street people,

(who at least have their reasons)

are so ridiculously absurd

that I almost pity them,

despite their assault on the world’s fairness.

 

I’ve no idea how they see themselves,

would hate to be their mirrors,

or their hibernating self-awareness,

or how unconscious they can be

yet still move arms and legs and tongues.

 

They’re like a show without a plot,

a laugh-less comedy,

a self-inflicted lampoon,

a busted treasure chest of malicious gossip

and inherited opinions.

 

They are offshoots of some long-ago

structured trust funds.

Some are guaranteed uselessness for life.

Others are already sucking on

the last drops from the teat.

When the money runs out,

there’s always humiliation.

 

Carl Walks Out

 

Late at night,

almost eleven,

Carl stands at the doorway,

in an aura of hallway light.

 

Jamie’s huddled under blankets,

almost asleep

but with one eye ajar like that door,

taking in the figure

that shadows cannot quite conceal.

 

Earlier, loud voices 

hastened Jamie into bed,

but then more muffled words

had him listening hard

and understanding nothing.

 

But now his father

is looking in on him,

something he never did,

and he is dressed

to go someplace

at such a strange,

unnerving time.

 

Carl backs away,

the light gleams brighter for a moment

but then goes out

once the door is closed.

 

Jamie trembles uncontrollably.

He’s not normally afraid of the dark.

But this is a darkness of another’s doing.

 

JOHN GREY

 

JOHN GREY:  Is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Cantos.