Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Poem To The Working Man by Jake St. John

In all the cities
ancient buildings
of beauty rise upwards
along the streets
casting shadows
like colossal tombstones

legacies of the fortunate
erected with Cheshire grins
and fine cigars

counting their money
over imported whiskey
washing away their souls
until their bodies
were as hollow
as the creations
they financed

and now their bones
which held together
only skin
rot and decay
in the same earth
as the bones
of a thousand
ragged and broken men









About Jake St. John:

Jake St. John writes out of New London, CT. He is a father, husband, teacher and neobeat adventurer. In his free time he can be found roaming the streets of Coyote Territory.
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