ghosts of yesterday linger in alleys

spirits of might have been drift through streets

shards of broken dreams glint on sidewalks

tatters of abandoned hopes hang in storefronts

we could have gathered all to eat real food around a common table

chose instead for some to feast and others beg

found acceptable for those who have

to laugh in derisive disregard at those who lack

indeed to deny them room in any stable

those all being filled by brass calves

soon to be paraded out by fools as gold

and children starve

the scent of smoke lingers in the alley

the restaurant has been gone for awhile

the owner saw the writing on the wall

shiny dollar signs scrawled by new money

incomers remake the town into their own image

wealth management firms with financial planners

luxury sports with concierge golf

rooftop bars with small plated precious food

soon they’ll build themselves a place of worship

inside will be a golden calf

(The title is a quote from a U.S. State-in the Deepest South-Delegate)

these new gods, deities of flash and cash

delight in human sacrifice as they stride across the world,

our backs their stepping stones, our faces to the ground.

we sing in worship, songs shouting possession;

we groan in pain, cries seeking recognition.

both go unheard by the hard indifferent dirt

and the gods pay no heed at all.

why should they, made in our image?