Here, at the end of the world,
We spend our time listening to commercials
advertising cereal, cars, or pharmaceuticals.
We watch the ticker tape of the shares rising
instead of the sun in the early morning.
As the share prices rise we dream of vacations
somewhere at the end of a long flight to south pacific islands.
We buy a new Mercedes Benz.
A summer house.
Another video game.
Another bottle of scotch
oblivious to the letters in the mailbox
from charities and non profits
that end up in the paper shredder or the waste basket.
We drive past the church
on the way to the shopping mall
and its marble floors and skylights,
its restaurants and coffee bars and boutiques,
charging new shirts, cufflinks, swiss watches
neckties and double breasted jackets
to our credit cards
Watching the young ladies in their blue jeans and miniskirts
standing like debutantes along the promenade
looking for someone to tell them they are beautiful
to admire their new tattoos
In the end we have our one night stands
one after the other.
We wake up with a hangover.
We look in the mirror.
We turn out the light
and close the door.
This poem is kind of a harsh indictment of the self centered consumer lifestyle we all live today. If you stop and think about it, we spend so much time thinking about making ourselves happy, and then wondering why we are still unhappy. Its because real happiness comes from making others happy. Its all in how you look at things. Whether you look in the mirror or at the people passing you in the street, whether you watch the market rise instead of the sun, or whether you go to church or drive to the shopping mall to buy yourself stuff. These self absorbing pastimes can end up consuming our lives if we let them. estory