I'm tired of the same talking heads and politicos who got us into this mess saying that giving people jobs is "pork."

Walking 422, deafening
diesel wind,
old, frozen grunge,
sinkholes our robins of spring,
And I see
newspapers piled on porches
dumpsters full of broken furniture
rust-bitten cars and trucks,
Harleys concealed from salt
--and the repo man.
Rows of cold houses stare
With empty eyes
sign nailed upon sign upon sign--
Reduced Reduced Reduced Reduced--
a suit pounds on a door
while upstairs, the hunted,
rabbit still.