Gross Domestic Product by Carolyn O’Connell

I am not a silent poet

Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Boxing Day
shops display bargains decked to entice
feet follow the siren call and fingers tap
the dance of consumption’s cravings
for new, more, next , brighter, better.

As the tills click and the profits mount
the gnomes of the cities count the coins
charting the status of every purchase
calculating winners and losers in the race.

The gamble goes on but brings no joy
it’s an addiction of capital’s empty pride
strong as any legal high, heroin or hash;
the down is the bill at the end of the month.

But the Golden towers that glitter with pride
do not bring peace or care to the home
children loose childhood to tablets and phones
and the newest purchase quickly come old.

Would but we calculated each man’s worth
the success of a company not by the sales:
come out of this race, this addiction to…

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