BLACK SOCKS

oligarchs, unctuous oafs
in black socks, these
tricky storks parked high
in clouds of hubris
above Majorca’s cliffs

carry dark pockets
of coin and cash
which contain other
people’s spilled
treasure

and lock out
caged flocks
who thirst
for the cool
justice
of leisure,
the pure
refreshing splash
of old school
pleasure,

while waterfalls
of change roil
and crash over blocks
of granite,
fruits of workers’
tasks and toil
collect in dank
pools below,

slowly sink
towards the brink
as greed that grimy
stallion gallops
over bodies
bleeding through/
out the planet,

writhing raw
in stagnant ponds
of hidden needs
caused by un/
bridled
capitalism’s
dirty deeds.