My Father’s Wage

My father bought a house in ‘72
Built new upon eight acres in the country
As an electrician on old Gilkey’s crew
Which also let my mom stay home with me.

The numbers of his weekly bank deposit
Match mine exactly, but that same life-style
Lay far beyond my economic orbit
That spins upon the downside of the bubble.

The shrinking dollars blow across the breach
That grew despite the years of ‘growth utopia’
While trickling-up and further out of reach
Like some neglected garden’s withered flora.

The country’s turned a peak, or so it seems,
When staring at the economic gauges;
A sliding hill of lost American dreams
Sold out for cheap junk and for cheaper wages.

Santiago del Dardano Turann

Archived 08/16/2010