First World Problem

With Overwhelm, we’ve overstayed the feast.
Side-by-side we gorge until we’re sick!
They, starving still for crumbs; we feed our beast.

Who spread those soiled linens and silverware;
yet claim that all is fresh and fair this time?
Lured-in by promises we won’t pretend to care.

  There’s nothing short of Heaven for you here;
     pull up a chair and order all you want!
     Wanting more of nothing – is nothing now to fear!

As peasants span the Globe with squalors’ rage;
the sellers pander more of nothing, cheap!
And those who reek of Overload claim “safety’s cage”

insist that all along choice is our noble feast;
we slave along to feed our one, collective beast!

Fancy Feast

(The Feast)

Photo and Poem © Reneé Marie, Oct 12, 2015