(Thoughts on sights from a train window)
A loading dock unswept,
A parking lot that's etched in grass,
A thousand broken windows
Let the rain into
The empty
Fact'ry floor,
What is this place?
This lonely stretch
Of track?
The heartland of
Our Industry,
But with the Heart
Torn out.
The mandarins of
Industry
Have found a
Better way,
Made union with a
Harsher God
Across the sea.
Let us celebrate
Our loss,
Our loss means
Lower prices for
Us all,
A better life within the
Walmart World.
Listen as the men,
Wearing thousand
Dollar suits,
Tell us what is best,
And your neighbors
Sink,
Down where they have
Never been.
Listen as your friends,
Listen as your neighbors,
Offer up belief,
In promises improbable,
And offer up their faith
To gods,
Already proven false,
False beyond all doubt.
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