Vegan Apocalypse
Turn down your hearing aids
for any hope to hear
Below the wall to wall noise
Imagined entertainment
The wide screens, slot machines
Slipping in through narrow window slots
Indoors pretending to be out.
Desperate faces pretending happiness
Out in the flushing meadows of the floor
Pit stops on the race to waste
Hoovering wealth, producing misery
What huge ruin lies in the desert
Of the lost republic.
Distracted from orange juice, coffee
Two bored blondes peer into apples
No affect mars glazed eyes
Feeding only on bytes
A swaying glass eyed dude
Cannot find his feet, caught
In the vice grip of his dream
impossibly slim legs, slender skirt
Baited breasts, fingers locked
On her prey, taking him to the cleaner.
A family down the row of booths
Young children lost in handhelds
Young parents lost their held hands
Wondering why
They breakfast in a diner
Lost inside this corner of deception.
Lost in this Pinnochian Paradise
This Vegan apocalypse
This, year six of
Barack Obama's America.