Billie’s Consumerism Blues

Consumerism’s got the best of me in spite of my fighting so hard to maintain the good thinks in life. I keep fighting a losing battle. I want to believe the best things in life are free but I get stopped in my tracks.

Buy buy buy they implore, while I have nothing left to buy with except very extended credit debts. I’m outta cash supply, debts mount easily. Buy, buy, buy, come read poetry. Buy a glass of wine. You can’t sit there and read for free. You’ve got to pay your dues too. Don’t forget the entrance fee. Cough it up.

Tons of paper discarded daily senselessly. No one could be so sad. Trees ask me to tell them why they’re born to be discarded they wail about their senseless lot, they live to be - they ask me if I know why it’s like this, what’s all this suffering for? I cry. I cry.

Lights on in every room whether you’re home or not to keep the burglars away. In Harlem Mexicans crowded 3 families to each apartment while we pay taxes to build another Yankee Stadium right next to the one already there. The rich pay more for private boxes while Mexicans live in NYC barracks, 20 in a 3 room apt, barely able to pay the rent. Please I beg you give the poor some of my taxes instead I plead. They turn a deaf ear. Please, please?

I sit in my room looking out at the rain, no one could be so sad. Gloom everywhere, I sit and I fear, I don’t know what the world is coming to.

Kill canned hunts. WTF, what kind of concept kills caged animals for a few dollars from the rich? I can’t wait. I want to kill hunters; torture them watch life slowly drain from them, their heads lolling to one side. I place their head on my lap. Take a pic too, like they do to the lioness bleeding from her mouth, trying to feed her cubs behind the fence, teats full of milk. Make them like quarry, my prey, another trophy.

You can’t hide from the ugliness I try to hide I do, I do. I can’t take much more.

I sit in my chair filled
Filled with despair.
No one could be so sad.
gloom everywhere, I sit and I stare. What’s the state of the universe? Is there anybody out there?

The ugliness all a glow, picture show for family. Bring up your moohlah! We got yours here. Worse than Sodom & Gomorrah. My soul’s for sale. Name your price! Sold to the devil at the crossroads!

This revolution will not be televised; will not put the shine back on your teeth. Civil rights gone, lives tapped into by government, someone’s in control somewhere. Not me, hey, I’m all alone in here waiting for the pain to go away. I sit in my chair full of despair, no one could be this sad.

I cry to trees. They hear my pleas. No one else does.

Please! Please. Is there anybody out there?

violetwrites's picture

Joy Leftow is a writer, poet, performer, and current editor of the Cartier Street Review. Leftow has worked as editor on other magazines, most notably a paper mag titled The New Press Literary Quarterly. She also edits for Augustus Press, a hip hop publishing house in New York City and writes for their magazine. Since the early 90's Leftow has been featured in poetry opens, radio and public access TV shows. She is a double alumna at Columbia University and has a second masters in Creative Writing from the City College Of New York. Leftow calls poetry her first love. She maintains a blog which has over 30, 000 facebook followers and over 180 google followers. For the past 2 years she's been working on a series of bluetry evolving from her love of the the blues. She continues helping others in her community since her retirement as a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and participates in group-work promoting arts with teens.

Last updated September 29, 2011