Poem: Inequity

Have another dry-aged steak cooked medium-rare, sir.

And more creamed spinach?

They go nicely with your claret, that ruby nectar that inspires

Torrents of adjectives.

Like “plummy.”

And “herbaceous.”

Never mind, sir, that your belly is full.

It can be fuller.

We ask only that as you shovel chewy morsels between your teeth,

Like a backhoe dumping freshly scooped soil

Into a dump-truck,

You say a silent prayer for all those miserable African and Asian kids,

Who failed to be born in the right place.

Save room — and we say that figuratively, of course — for dessert,

If only to remind yourself how sweet life is

When you’re on the heavy side of justice’s scales.