poem04 Aug 2019 06:58 pm
Davian Aw
the ballroom is blue with the glaze of evening
white marble ethereal beneath chandelier lights
on the stage, the poor, savoring the final few
moments as themselves.
announcer at podium playing the crowd-
ten thousand six! ten thousand six hundred
from the lady with the cat; do I hear twelve?
twelve thousand?
hammers fall amidst cheers, over and over
crystal vials fixed in place, gears turning, that cursed
machine building up to a deafening roar;
bodies drop to the floor in a grey haze of grief
vials glowing bright with stolen gifts.
bidders claim their prizes.
on the stage, a young girl
hears her voice emerge in sweet melody
from the throat of her buyer,
bowing to thunderous applause.
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