Placate the Proletariat by Francis Conlon

Francis Conlon | January 24th, 2025 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

Are listeners fearful of being alone?
That silent echo might make aware,
The buzzing of the ubiquitous phone,
To witness a broken solitary affair.

Called communing ‘tho so very brief,
A voice from the proletariat,
Espouses small data as relief,
With the ambiance of a secretariat.

Who, in truth, is in charge,
Seeking a sign of my reaction?
Uninvited, in they barge,
The non-message in pure distraction.

In truth, they are a time thief,
Stealing my will to make a choice.
I’d chase the future shown by a tea leaf,
For this is only an AI voice.

Poet Bio

Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.

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