Die Caesar II
Gary D. Jackson
Sleek executive with his starched Armani collar,
Money man persuing the almighty dollar.
Broker of humanity in his corporate suite,
A guilded perch, 58 stories above the street.
Listening intently, as an eager young assistant directs
A laser pointer onto the projectod image over-head
Of charts and bars, stread sheets, and graphs,
Break-downs and analysis of; per diem per day,
How much each state will pay. Annual profit
For each prosioner housed, status of favorable laws made passed.
23 more prision soon coming on-line:
Damn, but this is lucrative!
The ritually robed Ince High Priest at his altar,
God-incarnate to the bound captives, and masses below
His many-stepped high pyramid of rough stone.
Not so vastly different than his progeny;
The polyester-uniformed officer of homogeny,
Slouched in the watch-tower window. Habitually
Polishing to an oily sheen, the lethal snout of his mini-14.
Ilde daydreams of violence and murderous wishes are his
Fervent hopes of breaking the hardening monotony.
Judge, jury, executioner; life and death in his hands.
As he lazily gazes through endless, looped concertina wire
Encircling his captive kingdom.
Who is the prisioner that dares
To speak against his Caesar?
