Greasy Pockets

An oil tanker filled to the gills passes through the Strait of Hormuz. On either side encamped armies play soccer like the men they really are. Politicians quail and raise their voices in worn-out spheres of influence. An algorithm determines which of their faces to display to the masses.

As the tanker moves across the oceans the price of its cargo climbs. The men on board will not see these riches but the quarreling politicians find a way to make a dime. When the half moon bay went out of sight the ship’s oil was worth half of what it would get now. The tanker filled with black gold stops cold halfway through the Panama Canal. Sinking into the ocean pit down goes the tanker weighted by corruption and deceit. The men jump overboard into the contaminated water.

The politicians are envious of the overboard sailors overcome by black sludge. The muck on the hands of political officials will never be washed away. No matter how many election cycles pass the shame will not go away. While they grease their pockets with smudged hands voters fail to understand. It’s not the oil, the system, the people, but the greed we are suffering for.