Plaid

It’s got nothing to do
With colors, fashion,
Standing on my perch
Behind the counter;

It’s got nothing to do
With interaction
Greeting strangers who
Only care about amounts

Announced in white
On green cotton paper,
The size of cents and not
The minerals on hand
Below the vapors

Of consumptive economy,
Laissez faire without apology,
Assholes on a mission to own
Everything before anybody,

To sleep or enjoy company,
Get fucked up and escape reality,
Force of habit or addiction,
Stop by the convenient pantry of sin

Where mark ups are revered
And gambling perseveres,
The poor get poorer but
The rich do too, though
Bulk prices benefit the
Wealthy and surfeit while
Tall boys and scratch offs
Keep the destitute in denial…

But it’s a free country, or
So they used to say, with
Paved roads to any place more
Affordable and without the pith,

But in America you need
A car to get what you wish,
The homeless complain about this,
Stacking bottles and cans for
Nickels and dimes, walking
Three miles two-fifty at a time,

I try to help out but that’s not
What this job is about,
Cuz like a stock broker or  
Bank CEO, your congressman
Or a cartel from Mexico, this work’s
About the green and always has been:

So if you’re up ungodly late
And have an appetite for indulgence
You just have to satiate,
Grab your bills and come see me
Crucified behind the counter
At your local Plaid Pantry.