Poetry – Buying into a nightmare. A poem about the establishment who run the show and how to get on.

Buying in to a nightmare

I’ve always had an aversion to the whole social game. It sounds like a social nightmare. There is this mad rush to fit in at any cost. You have to have the right status symbols, wear the right uniform, play the right game, watch what you say and buy in.

If you make it to the high table and are accepted in then you have it made. That’s where the deals are made, the strings are pulled, the words whispered in ears.

This is certainly no meritocracy. The dice are loaded.

Right back through the generations yea even to the days of knights and medieval favour. The control continues.

At the level of the ordinary we are largely unaware of the strata above our heads and the games being played. They manipulate us and control. They have the media. They control what we hear, see and feel.

Democracy depends on freedom of information and lack of bias.

It’s not all about polished cars and lines in the lawn.

 

Buying in to a nightmare

 

I’m collecting all the baubles –

The symbols of my class.

Polishing the car

Rearranging certificates

From my past.

 

I mow the grass

In straight lines

And brush down my grey suit,

Fasten on my ‘old boys’ tie

And stash away the loot.

 

I’ve bought my way to the table

Where the plates are always full

And all the fawning sycophants

Devise the deeds so cruel.

 

Where the plans are laid with glee

As the targets they are set

And they make the deals for each other

Lest we should forget.

 

Opher 7.11.2015