Hungry Ghost

When I was young as Jonah
Fistfuls of life swallowed me.
The umbilical was worn.
Proudly, around my neck,
like a charm.
I owned everything.
Now there is nothing.
Only slippery ghosts.
Looking backwards
Fitfully shaking and
Begging to be
Let out of their corner.
And for change
That will never come.
Not in this lifetime.
Not in a wealth of indifference.
A common class set aside,
A cold coinage.
Defaced and debased.
Common life.
Bought and sold.
Death on an industrial scale.