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Food (Wank) Bank.

Updated on October 25, 2014

Food (Wank) Bank.

I open my mouth to speak and my eyes to see,

Eyes absorb the light, ears suck in sound,

Yet for the mouth to take in nourishment has become criminal,

Worthiness to eat, a trial the poorest are set, albeit subliminal.


Words can educate, life can edify,

They bestow energy in their own, unique way,

It fails to replicate food in energy imbued,

A power a freedom, insurrection the elite misconstrued.


A food bank tries to stave away starvation,

But perpetual frustration lingers in the eyes,

of those bound by callous limitation,

Unable to stem a swelling flood is their defeated implication.


Futility suffuses the old church hall,

Dank odour of adulation turned rancid, like my last parcel,

All that's left is a pack of dried noodles cloying to a shelf,

A study in regressive evolution all to itself.


An ology in degradation, poverty and punishment,

Thesis on the failed Capitalist construct and vicarious blame,

Heaved by hungry, their souls craving more than food,

Whipped by elite, telling them freedom does more harm than good.


Impoverished vessel staggers past a glittering store,

Convenience not the order of the day for one who is poor,

Aisles of fair fare, rendered foul by pecuniary censure,

Eternal excoriation, drip feeding the jobless dementia.


You deign to steal from this metropolis of meals,

and are snatched yourself, to answer for your audacity,

To beg absolution for wanting more, to dare to wish for repleteness,

Your pleas bypass compassion, another dent in one's incompleteness.


You now belong to the food bank crowd,

A gathering of those too destitute to be proud,

Whose lives are masked by an acidic shroud,

Scouring away dignity until your sense of freedom is cowed!


© Brad James, 2013.

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