Monday, August 17, 2009

You Troublesome Middle Classes

Bad behavior inspires bad poetry. What can I say?

Oh you troublesome middle classes
Why must you always raise hell
Over every little thing?
Know your place, like the masses
Here it is, the order of things
When the boom comes a-swingin'
They know to duck and huddle
Waddle, roll over and play for dead
It is wisdom to know ahead
The rulemaker will not sway.

Oh you troublesome middle classes
Why must you constantly put up a fight?
With your quaint little ideals
And other inedible quibbles
Like justice and freedom and ethics
What useless calisthenics
Of words and ideas, they hold no sway
Over the real dynamics of powerplay

But then all you really have
Are words and a voice
When the true powerful and rich
Play with their currency of choice
So go ahead, raise a ruckus
Over every perceived slight
Because, in the end
The only language understood
Is might

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