The bus reeks like a bomb shelter,
corporate slaves are running helter skelter,
it’s pouring down hard,
you can drown a cat or a midget bard,
in my shirt pocket,
you look up at the sky,
to detect an Iranian or North-Korean rocket,
but it’s only the US and its Israeli owners who’re that sly,
you teach English at a prestigious beer company,
it’s now specializing in bland beer-like lemonade,
you wait for an epiphany,
something to escape the capitalist arcade,
and today is Naqba,
700.000 Palestinians lost their homes in 1948, but do you think anyone cares? Nah.
You go about your business hoping for insight that always comes too late.