2030

This poem was published in Social Justice Inks Anthology by Lisa Tomey’s Prolific Pulse Press, available for purchase on Amazon.

An old woman took her granddaughter to the mall. 

She wanted to buy her little girl a lollipop. 

The shopkeeper asked her to pay at the facial recognition machine. 

She was too poor to own a digital device,  

too helpless to be tech savvy, 

and she only scraped by using the money in a biscuit tin. 

The shopkeeper told her that business could not accept cash payment anymore, 

for the public health order said it all. 

She pleaded with the shopkeeper saying they were clean and healthy. 

All she wanted was a good old days’ reward for her granddaughter. 

The little girl looked up to her tear-filled eyes, 

“Nana, you are the sweetest thing in the whole wide world, 

more than all the lollies in the shop. 

Our papa in heaven knows we are clean. 

Let’s go and play in the sun!” 

Writer’s notes: This poem is about the future of digitised technology and human passport segregate the society and continue to drive vulnerable group of people to be the outcast. 

This Is Not About Fashion


People romanticise the rain
He wishes he could be one of those people
But he has no work if it rains
It has been raining a lot this autumn

He is already behind on rent and bills
Who would have thought that thieves would rob the down trodden
His flat has been ransacked empty
The Neighbourhood Centre gave him some non perishable food

Winter comes early this year
He needs a padded jacket to fend off the chilly mornings
He also needs underwears and socks
There is a dilemma in Kmart menswear
But given the priority of necessity
He is going commando

Wilted Flower

She once was adorable
for being the girl
fogets the punchline
for being clumsy
around the kitchen

Infauation put her
on a pedestal

Now
she is intolerable
for being the same girl
forgets the punchline
She is slapped around
and called useless
for being clumsy
around the kitchen

Love is a cold vase
housing a wilted flower

Dissapointment

I used to fantasise about retirement life
Playing cards
Reading books and people watching in a cafe
Strolling along the beach
with my kitty on a leash

Today
I don’t want to get old
I don’t want to live in a senior unfriendly world
I would hate to be told to go online to do everything
I would hate to be treated like I am void of knowledge, intelligence or experience

Today
I don’t like humans
I see doom and gloom of this sterile world
And I am too tired to even take responsibility of my own actions

Today
I give up
Before the seniors do

Sydney Homelessness

I am reposting this as the Sydney street count is fast approaching this month (August 2019).

 

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

I was there counting…

Their faces rushing to me like the dying souls swallowing by the swamp
Their stories I had heard playing like vinyl records

I ain’t got mama ain’t got nothing, papa’ s punches driving me scatty…
If you licked it and you liked it, a couple pearly dewdrops will get you high and die in ecstasy…
I was raised crooked in a dungeon, the city street lights are bright and shiny, it’s so much safer…
Not going back that sty, slave to two pigs from a mode. God I hate them sweet Jesus…
I am a failure as the financial crisis. I have sold my soul to the grog, 10 seconds sober to see my princess walking in school…
When Mama died she prayed God would take me. Now I am here and I don’t know why. Where is my Mommy…
My Dad needs help, he is all schizoed out. My mates can’t help, the weed can’t help…

I was there counting…

One by one the forgotten in our city
The stories were told
None has changed

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

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