Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /89

The War on Poverty

February 24, 2025

A poem by Michael Hawkes

The poor must get off at the nearest exit,
Must clear all four lanes and get out of the way,
Must risk being trampled or crushed on the off-ramps
That lead to the slumps where most of them stay.

Our freeways are built for the wealthy to drive on
By immigrant workers on next to no pay.
Although brutally used, too many survived
To demand equal rights without pause or delay.

We’ve been warned of the weight of these useless eaters,
Progress insists that we sweep them away;
We cannot allow their plight to defeat us,
There’s no part in the future for poor folks to play.

There’s no space for them here on our heavenly highway,
No place of refuge in our sanctified halls,
Tho’ they’re welcomed to perish and join the affray
In the hells they have sprung from beyond those steel walls.

Starvation, restriction and war are the tools
Used by the mighty to maintain their own worth,
To rid our spaceship of contemptible fools
And deny all the wretched a berth.

Plans are in place for their total extinction
With the hope of creating a heaven on earth;
Upheld by those leaders of little distinction
Who despise the existence of dearth,

Whose pockets are lined with the lint of the faithful
Who believe they were special and chosen at birth
Who scorn the idea that all men may be equal
And claim to be Lords of the earth.

17/10/22 – Hawkes

Feature image: Mart Production, Pexels

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