What The Lower Class Does (Redux)

7 Aug

Sunday flew out the door
chased by the heavy, tropical breeze and Coltrane’s sax,
helped along by a melancholic
carafe of Sangria with cut-up fruit.

in the late afternoon
we fed the horses carrots,
at the Polo stables of the rich,
while the owners lunched at an outdoor table
under cover of the gazebo
and shot us glances over their shoulders,
like arrows tipped in poison.

we drank cold, cheap beer
out of red and white cans
and let the horseflies and fleas
bite the bottoms and sides of our feet,
while the little princess became enamored
with the beautiful racing animals.
it was warm.

on the way back
the child fell asleep under a blanket,
holding tightly to her faerie figurines,
and we drove the streets wasting time,
looking at fancy homes with fancy roofs
and fancy pools,
trying to figure out what kind of people lived there,
and whether they brushed their teeth at night,
or took out the garbage on Tuesdays and Fridays.

he said
the rich are different from you and me
and I said
yes, they have more money
inadvertently re-enacting a famous conversation
from the 20s.

he said
the people who live in those homes
are the ones who crush the rest of us under their
four-thousand dollar tailor-made shoes.
you ever step on a floor full of cockroaches?
you ever hear them crackle under your feet?
that’s who those people are.


8 Responses to “What The Lower Class Does (Redux)”

  1. scott 07/08/2007 at 2:06 PM #

    There is no fee for being a bastard
    Both rich and poor this skill have mastered

    Hello, Lx.

  2. Lx 07/08/2007 at 2:17 PM #

    …and those myriad
    in between, as well.

    hi right back.

  3. scott 07/08/2007 at 2:21 PM #

    Cool poem, by the way.

  4. Anonymous 07/08/2007 at 2:26 PM #

    Actually, if you read the ending carefully it’s sort of ambiguous. Not sure if the guy in the poem is referring to the cockroaches as the rich, or the guy stepping on them, as the rich. Very cool ambiguity man.

  5. slyboots2 07/08/2007 at 2:27 PM #

    Oink, saith the swinette. And also, yeah. Them rich folk. But just to even it out- there are different brands of rich folk. There are the ones connected with the earth- who are rich in land, but not in currency. Who might drive the same car for 20 years, and who hide the wealth behind a veneer of civility and sameness. They’re the ones I want to be. Not the others. Because those fuckers deserve to be hated. That sense of noblesse oblige. That sense of righteous superiority. That sense of entitlement. They can shove that up their entitled little asses. And when the rapture comes, I’ll be hanging at the farm with the other ones- eating their home-canned pickles. Heh.

  6. Lx 07/08/2007 at 2:31 PM #

    oh the close scrutiny…the horror of it all.
    scott, not sure if this stuff is poetry…probably not.
    i used to label this as “strange prose” but i’ve stopped putting labels on junk, and just write it.
    maybe “junk” would be good.

    anon, there is always SOME thought that goes into writing these seemingly short pieces. read this however you want. i’m just grateful you’re reading.

  7. Anonymous 08/08/2007 at 3:41 AM #

    There is this seeming indifference in your writing which I love. No, I’m wrong, not indifference, but just a lack of judgement. YOu just present the “facts” in a way. But yet still evoke a ton of emotion. How do you do that?

  8. Lx 08/08/2007 at 1:43 PM #

    i actually had a conversation about this just last night. there is definitely no indifference and probably bias, though it’s masked. i can’t just write without opinion, but things like this, i think, need to be presented in a certain fashion without proselytizing (too much). i mean there’s definitely a social statement being made here; it’s not without opinion.

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