discontent

the woe is us
march down the street
after the election
is running
out of gas.
it's the end
of the world
they say
while sipping on a grande
vanilla skim latte.
their voices
hoarse, the feet
blistered
in their not for marching
boots
and shoes
from DSW.
they look at their phones,
take a picture,
smiling
with their home made signs.
soon they
have to go home
and feed the dog,
pick the kids up at the bus
stop.
the revolution and discontent
is slowed
by the hunger
for dinner, the rain.
what's on tv
at nine.