under their thumb

Bryn Evans • March 13, 2025

Chapter Tags: Literary Arts, Philosophy, Politics

under their thumb
we get just crumbs, doldrums
humdrum, ba-da-bum
becoming paralyzed, numb
it’s all shrill filler—the sound
loud and unfounded
crowded, shrouded as it drifts upward
cloudy and ungrounded
fears stirred, subconsciously inferred
sisters pleading, unheard
vision blurs, as words slur
the real becomes the absurd
scroll rolled, message molded
the truth creased and refolded
now behold: the foretold
His servants emboldened
sent to segment and disorient
they do what they’re meant
and spent, we relent
what can you do but consent?

no doubt they lucked out

merit debunked now

meanwhile we bucked up, plucked up

all just to flunk out

reading quotes, notes

not woke they gloat

it’s rote

come to class, bags bloated, Coates torn

porn censored for the unborn

don’t worry

of course allegiance is already sworn

sucked up, sunk down

caved in, struck out

a swing and a miss

their favourite pastime: a sport

it’s the long game, not short

if our numbers grow stronger

deport, don’t abort

unruly, foolish

slowly ballooning, unspooling

suing, on cue

now it all goes ka-boom

story spun, trial done

black and Brown, you all won

so make do, two-by-two

bus to your new school

careening, keening

to learn their tools

not to dismantle the house, though

no, these utensils will kill

drill filling in mother’s cavity

pillage til the cellar is up to the gills

mind dulled and swill spilled

wool twisted and pilled

pulled over the eyesore

you won't beat this high score

what a thing to die for

loot, lick, and lie for

more, more, they implore

they roar orders: war

war on the ore, whore, and her supporters

same again as before

it's never the last time

they’ll build a new gas line

a cyclical structure

inexorable rupture

transcending class lines

communing, a mass crime

and the origin, the organizers of the gore?

ignore it, not important

blame the poor for what you can't afford

they’re coming—the horror

lock the door, hit the floor

you don’t know what you’re in for

stab my back, to your face

they smear black on their face

impersonating, berating

infiltrating safe places, shared spaces

home bases

faster, serve the master

amassing pace as they race

debasing, displacing and suitcasing

those at our sides

not dry-eyed, we’ve sighed, died

shut inside

can’t you see what’s implied?

a neighbourhood

once stood, now firewood

it’s good—yes, it’s good

or it’s for our own good?

why can’t it be both?

it certainly should

so vagrants, we march

edicts arch, vulgar, harsh

queueing, zooing

nothing new, through the ruins

you can view our undoing

into dungeons, we trudge

oily streams, slop and sludge

the hold or the pen

squished like hens, eight-to-ten

listen to the wise men

say again: lord, amen

don’t protest, get undressed, you can rest

they know best

the boot is not on your chest

maybe not how you guessed

surely not how you thought

the stairs, feeble and plodding

the rail, gnarled and rot

don’t look in their eyes

they glide restlessly by

bloodshot and besot

filled with all they’ve forgot

rather watch—sit and watch

the screen, the diversion

cast no aspersion

thumb in your mouth

they know no subversion

and they say, each day, plainly, refrainly

accept what you can’t change—strange

our response was pre-gauged

as they planned our conversion

programmed the immersion

so we wait, sedated, deflated

listen, we don’t have to take it

we create our shared fate

forsaken is overrated

I will not sit quiet, diet

I’ll riot

apathy cannot be the answer to coercion