International Capitalism


She walked down the sidewalk
in the lovely town, weary
from a day of shopping. She
caught her reflection
in a store window and paused
to inspect her hair, still crisp,
clasped neatly in her exotic barrettes.
As she peered in the window
she saw herself superimposed
upon the rich carpet of elegant design.
The sign said "Magic Carpet, Princess Bokara,  Pakistan"
Deep into the octagons the colors pulled
her drinking eyes. The salesman
stepped out the door. He said,
"Really, it's a magic carpet.
See that spider woven into
the design? That protects
the rug and anyone who sits upon it
from any harm." She looked
down further to the spider
penetrating the pile. She saw
eyes like children
dancing mystical dreams.
She did not hear the cries and screams of children
chained to looms or see the 10-year-old spokesman
shot in the streets where beauty stalks the weave
of silks through brilliant tessellate trees of life.
The pious wealthy kneel on the work of slaves.
“I’ll take it” she said.

From the Book