It is like a song in crescendo, this
Desiring for more bucks everywhere,
In the nooks and crannies of cold corners.
Quick economics, they call out
To migrants, tourists, countrymen.
The speed by which greed is telegraphed
Is like the lyrics of hatred gone mad,
The madness gathering music of the wrong
Kind in the wronged mind and heavy heart.
This is a ruse in a sing-song,
This search for easy silly sums.
Everything comes off in an offbeat key
Like the spasms of lost loves giving off
The wicked wailings of sirens going
Nowhere and everywhere to bring in
The cadaver of allegros in that cantata
Of bravados the liars crave for: more, more
Monies of the green kind to blend with
The notes of hard work and dreamed-of
First suppers that never will, never come.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Los Angeles, CA