Someone made their own fun during the depression
Outside the city with no place to live.
Stateless immigrants and migrant workers
That could escape to countryside watering holes.
Fishing nets in hands of friends.
Indentured servants on furlough;
The factory behind my bench no longer humming.
Suddenly they are better off than their landlords,
In the blessing of simpler times,
Knowing how to enjoy survival,
Richer than the bankers’ brokers;
Those privileged greedy real-life chokers
That could not depend on themselves to fry a fish.
What our city urchins could now concur,
Banned from green fields, liberating harvests
Not reduced to stealing apples from broken carts,
Or perhaps a meal when prison starts,
But millions of chickens purged by staffing shortage,
In the upcoming world of material collapse,
Make them empty the store shelves into the streets,
Squat in the homes of empty investors,
And whack the fascists till they squelch and squeal.
David Barry Temple is a graduate of San Francisco State University’s Creative Writing Program. He performed in the 1978 Annual San Francisco Poets Festival with the troupe from Cloud House, and in New York City where his first short story, “The Rape,” was published in Riverrun Anthology ’77. His collection of short stories, Forgotten People of Taiwan, was published in 2014, Han River; Poems from Taichung, was published in 2015 and Unnatural Beauty; Poems from the Han Riverside was published in 2018.