The broker

Racing against it and
running out of it,
raving at strangers
raging injustices
rivers of refugees
begging for
someone to help us

Are we just bubbles that pop
bubbles that stop, or
even bubbles that never
rise up to the top?

who’s blowing them
that’s what I want to know.

Christmas and what?
there are those who have
those who have not,
life is truly becoming that
Dickensian plot,

all we need now are the ghosts
the past, the present and that
yet to come,

Christmas, what fun.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.