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Brittle (Waiting to be Shattered)
Precious china cups, porcelain dolls, and crystal jars
Tremble at the rumble of the trains desperately late
And rushing by the bay window with a heart-attack addiction
To ambitious schedules written by clerks who can not wait
For anything so fragile as real people or true events
When adding another ten percent to the going ticket rate.
I would trample the flowers in ironic defiance except
No flowers can be found in reach of senseless acts
Whose only value would be to advance the insensate cause
Of automatons who can only find value in burlap money sacks
I finish my toiletries and ablutions for another day of toil
Of gainful employment found at the end of the railroad tracks.
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