the bread line

the angry line grows
long. it's like soviet
russia. it's windy,
it's cold and there
is potato vodka tucked
in everyone's pocket.
they want so much,
they have needs
and desires. they want
the poster, the happy
vacation family
boasting tans
and health. they have
believed in the plan,
but there is no
sunshine, or banquets
to be found, not
really. just handouts,
mere morsels of affection.
it's all i can do
for the moment.