In the boredroom

Do they yawn, these masters
�of our fate and wallets
�as they cast their weighted
�dice together, as they weigh
�our lives and find them
�negligible as we do when
�we swat a fly?

�

Do they still find it
�exciting as they plan
�a war or an election,
�a tax break or a politician
�bought for less or more
�than they judged him
�worth? Is it still fun?

�

Is it just routine now—
�a famine in Bangladesh
�a strike crushed in West
�Virginia mines, a plague
�ignored in the Congo,
�a carcinogenic drug
�widely advertised.

�

The draperies are drawn.
�We have no spies
�in those high places.
�Our phone calls recorded,
�our IDs stowed in files
�but they remain almost
�invisible to us.

�

�