The War on Poverty
on Anthony Lovat in Bolgatanga (Ghana), 29/May/2011 14:00, 34 days ago
A poor man and a richer man did fightFor all the golden treasures in the earth.They battled from the moment of their birth,From the lowest vale to mountain height.They struggled in the city and the town,They skirmished in the fields and countryside,They hated one another’s foolish pride,They lived for putting one another down.Their uniforms displayed them friend or foe:The labelled suit for rich, the rags for poor.The rich man barricaded gilded door,Citing law that only rich men know.The poor man swore that he’d improve his lot.He slaved in snow and sun to simply serveObesely rich man more than he deserves,Whilst praying God will smile on what he’s got.But God had left the poor man to his fate,Delaying justice‘till His Judgement Day.The poor man gazed with envious display -Surely rich man’s happiness is great.But rich man needed prozac to get by.He gazed from castle ramparts high on fearOf falling out and back from highest gear,Of slipping class and slicing smaller pie.That fear consumed the rich man’s every act.He threw some crumbs to sweeten bitter pillAnd fenced his kingdoms, spending all good will,Broke and terrified of being attacked.Then, one day, the rich man ventured out,He strolled the dirty street and dark alley,A world removed from rich man’s own country,And found his brother living there without.“What world is this?”, the rich man asked the poor.“What do you think, you know, you love, you sell?”But poor man couldn’t speak the language well,Removed from rich, his brother, a voyeur.Neither brother understood the other,They’d fought the war so long they both felt shameAt all the heartache, misery and blame -Their hate was deadened by this silent smother.With hearts that heaved with sadness they engagedIn this, their final showdown - live or die.They locked their horns and took an eye for eye.They dragged the world into their war enraged.So when the dust had cleared and peace resumedThey saw that neither man had won at all -The rich man bankrupted through costly brawl,The poor man feeling more perpetually doomed.The riches of the world were nearly spent,Both men, now poor, they tilled reluctant soilTill new rich man did interrupt their toil,Stirring up a stale-fresh discontent.“I can deliver riches, joy and fun.I’ll bring you all you’ve always missed.A liberal democratic capitalist.Oh, and would you like to buy a gun?”