Reflections of working class zero

After the dead and the dying are brought out,  
because the radiation and microbes are too much
for your civilized baby ass-
I gotta be moving them to the temple-  for blessing: the geiger-clickin’ corpses-  
across the radiating sand in the heat of the uninhibited sun.  
Because the temples are overloaded with those waiting to be blessed,  
I gotta  move the ones that have been, to the burial bus as soon as words have been spoken.  
Without the temples, you science-bound atheists,
what will serve as a buffer while you try and get your shit together?      

The disrespect you give us: mutant born- designed-  
We walk where you can not even crawl: through a world turned blood and sand
by those good ol’ yesterday-solutions; because none of you ever thought past your next dollar.
Money.  Fame.  Instant gratification.
The-So-Many-Hungry have taken from the Many-More-Starving.  
If everything ain’t gone by now- it’s gonna be!  
Your frail ass is gonna pass, and the meek are going to inherit-  
Respect that!        

She has been placed on the temple steps, tagged for bus # 7,
fresh: her features not yet corrupted.  
Beautiful: olive skin, soft raven hair, dark Asian eyes; her face, a Frazzetta creation made flesh.
Her lifeless body: slim, petite, slightly curved.  
As I carry her to the final place, I can’t help but weep for our loss.  
She may have been the angel sent to deliver-
I pause for the coffin-bus door to open.  
Gazing down into a pool of oil, I see our reflection:
A bronze statue of Greek perfection: muscular arms that cradle an Asian goddess.    

The scarlet cross opens from the middle, I ascend the steps,
and carry her along the endless corridor inside.  
Our path is bordered by occupied cots:  
on my left, the dead.  On my right: those waiting for death.  
Endless beds of the soon to die, writhing, in one eternal row,
appear as one giant centipede on its back: hit by insecticide.

It should all mean something.  I try to see it, but mine is but a slave’s brain
searching for meter,
for meaning,
for metaphor
in something
that has no rhyme-
no reason,
no real religion.