AT THE PROLETARIAT CAFE

AT THE PROLETARIAT CAFE

I dunk my bread
into my tea

dreaming of
designer coffee,
dark expresso

and world where
we are not your wage
slaves do
not fight your wars

fill
your cenotaphs
(those of us whose bodies
or parts thereof
can still be)

I dunk my bread
into my tea

nothing on the menu
Is what it seems
no one
speaks

can only believe
what we are sold to believe