Ken Poyner
The day of sacrifice has come again.
I can't get all that enthused about it.
The crops fail or too much corn
Is converted to ethanol or
International trade with rules beyond
Our understanding drives the price too high
And hunger is our short term forecast.
It is as regular as rain, as right
As clockwork. We expect this social
Circumnavigation. So offically there is declared
A day of sacrifice, a call to public duty,
A klaxon that sings that all of us collectively
Are more important than a few of us individually.
Okay, so it is the right thing to do.
Okay, we are all Veblens in a Malthusian world.
I put on my apron and head
For the central square with my butcher's tools
Battling each other in their comfortable box
Like kittens in a crate to the river.
Maybe I will live to see a season
With no sacrifice, no lining up,
No mass of homogenous stares, but I doubt it.
I think these rituals are as predictable
As lunar cycles, and for crisp, internal reason:
In celebrations, like dancing at weddings,
Or in the circumstance in the swearing in of legislatures.
Children line up for me like fence posts
Without railings, and there will never be enough until
Enough is the priority. It is easy work
And I am glad for the pay of public employment.
But, to too many people, this makes sense.
You should do the math.
It is subversive.