Painting by John Biggers
Orpheus at Lost Bay
Orpheus wakes. Another day of busting
his hump at a factory job.
Sanitary engineers in overalls
with plastic gloves heave their mounds
of garbage into trucks.
Streets shake before they shine,
scoured clean by huge machines.
All ancient rituals are done
except for one. Sing Orpheus, sing.
Get in your car and drive.
The world of 9 to 5 demands
its sacrifice.
There's bills to pay.
Rich men expect you to dance
for them until your back breaks,
your thighs crack
and after twenty years or so,
your creative talent
withered on the vine,
your orchard plucked
of its choicest fruit,
you die inside, your dreams
now part of the garbage
the morning gathers up.
Scott Malby
Posted over on Ragged Edge
No comments:
Post a Comment