“Distractions” by Michael Tarter

Secret society of those
who bruise knuckles
on objects that

Leaves of grass
waved once
right Whitman?

Now replaced by
concrete and food stamps
grind it out

Pay the mortgage
raise the kids
buy a motorhome
retire and die

Society is getting bigger
while other societies
keep secrets

Our jobs
your money
my money

Our money
the big men
laughing on high
their own society

Money, power
drugs, booze and pussy
they have that

We have distractions
and concrete
food stamps

How do the leaves
blow now, Walt?