Poems
by Gary Beck

 

Wage Slave

 

It just doesn’t matter

how hard I work.

The more hours I put in

the more money I take home.

But the cost of living goes up.

Prices rise for everything,

yet however more I make

it goes for something

that we can’t do without.

I won’t get a pension.

I don’t have investments.

I don’t have any savings.

I’ll have to keep working

until it’s time to retire,

but I won’t get very much

from Social Security,

so we’ll have to move

to a cheaper apartment,

hope there’ll be enough to eat,

pray that none of us get sick,

because we can’t cut back more

and we’re at the end of our rope.

 

 

 

 

 

Mother

 

They brought us a long way

from Honduras to Mexico,

across the river

to the U.S.A.,

then through the desert

followed by the long ride

to Brooklyn, America.

 

We lost Alejandro

when we crossed the desert,

but the girls were safe

in the hot truck,

even though the men

kept looking at them

wanting you know what,

but we got there.

 

They got me a job

sewing in a factory,

where I work long hours

and they take some of my pay.

But we have an apartment,

food on the table

and the girls go to school.

 

I worry all the time

that the gang boys

always want the girls

to do you know what,

give them presents, drugs,

but they’re good girls

and say ‘no’,

not like back home

where they have to say ‘yes’.

 

If we are lucky

the girls will finish high school,

maybe go to college,

somehow become citizens,

have a better life

than their Mama.

 

 

 

 

 

Assisted Living

 

Winter is coming soon.

My room is always cold.

A lot of the time

I spend the day in bed.

The staff love that.

all they have to do

is empty my urinal.

Yeah. It’s not a fun job,

but it only takes a minute

and they don’t do anything else.

I can still transfer to my wheelchair

and eat my meals

in the cafeteria.

The food’s not too good

but it keeps me alive

for a while longer,

as long as I want

to keep living this way.

 

 

 

 

 

Dealer

 

I been dealin

since I was 12.

I was a runner

for the gang

since I was 8.

They upped me to a corner

cause I did my job

and didn’t let no one

fuck with my shit.

I carry a gun

so no one mess with me.

An eye warn me

if cops come.

The counselor fool

tell me stay in school,

but I laugh at him.

I don’t need that shit.

The gang takes care of me.

I got a cool jacket,

brand new sneakers,

all the girls I want

do me for a little taste

of what I got.

Things gonna get better.

That’s what Big L tell me.

He look out for me.

The counselor fool

tell me I be dead

before I 21.

That’s forever from now.

Every day be cool.

I gets what I want.

What I care if I die

a lotta years from now.

Everything good today.

 

 

 

 

 

Aftercare

 

I lie on my stretcher

in a pool of urine

and no one helps me.

When the staff came in

to change my bed

they put me on the stretcher

and left. They didn’t come back.

I’ve been here for hours

and tried not to pee

as long as I could,

but I couldn’t help it.

I stink. Everything hurts.

And it’s not the first time.

All of us here are poor.

We get Medicaid

so the nursing home gets paid,

but they treat us like trash

and nobody else cares.

I’ll stand it for a while

and hope it gets better

until it’s too painful

and not worth living.

 

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