No Shit


In a vast megalopolis
raw shit floats
in open tidal channels,
bordered by houses
built from scraps of cardboard,
corrugated iron
and striped woven plastic;
children play in slimy
courtyards crusted
with Ecoli, untroubled
by the cloying stench
of digested food.

Around the corner,
a researcher stands
in a living room
with a voice recorder
capturing a conversation
about reality TV.

An animated face
talks of many things,
he gathers grist for his
theoretical mill:
consumer culture,
late capitalist pot noodles,
Slum Dog Millionaire,
and what happened
on Big Boss last night,
he laughs, no shit.

21 thoughts on “No Shit

  1. Oh my! You really went for this one, M ~ & goodness me does it work! Such a well crafted poem about such a shitty situation ~ & cue the researchers getting off on all that shit! Outstanding write with some really powerful lines & a massive final stanza ~*

  2. M, you are at the cutting edge for this one; just where poets should be. And, for the record, this is exactly where my conscience lies most days. Only thing that surpries me a little is that I don’t write more poetry about the inequity of the world as it stands.

    Great write. I love you for it.

  3. You nailed it here. The second verse is right out of a Guardian story I was reading a couple of nights ago. Sad state of affairs our world is in. Too many people with the wrong priorities.

  4. Reminds me of Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row”

    “They’re selling postcards of the hanging
    They’re painting the passports brown
    The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
    The circus is in town
    Here comes the blind commissioner
    They’ve got him in a trance
    One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
    The other is in his pants
    And the riot squad they’re restless
    They need somewhere to go
    As Lady and I look out tonight
    From Desolation Row”

    And that’s just the first verse of an 11+ minute song.

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