The New World Disorder

The future is determined by the past,
And sluggards won’t be sleeping at the Ritz.
Innate potential, howsoever vast,
Is squandered when attention deficits

Entail default on hosts of unpaid bills,
Precipitating self-induced misfortunes.
So few will proudly swallow bitter pills
Or relish poor cuisine in meager portions

Like those enjoyed inside of prison walls
By convicts with a sudden taste for God.
The thought of self-sufficiency appalls
The social-worker caste; they deem it odd

That anyone possessing half a mind
Would willfully make do without the State’s
Support.  To scratch a liberal is to find
A shameless money-sucking leech who hates

The very notion that a man must try
In order to excel.  Esteemed professors
Applaud the miscreants that bleed us dry,
And mentor their invidious successors.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Over the past eight years, hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Australia and India. He is inordinately fond of single malt Scotch whisky.