By WILTON CARDOSO*
there are no more workers workers workers
only human capital
the noias and street vendors roam
between the cars at the closed traffic lights
undertaking crumbs
and exchanged
there are only losers
and God's chosen
a boy and his mother dig through the garbage
in the containers of the building
the fair's xepa and its almost rotten vegetables
is the new niche market
where rag entrepreneurs compete with each other
and with the flies
scavengers pull scrap carriages
human workhorses rats
collecting the remains
of postmodern civilization
in the dry months the rivers exude an odor of feces
rotten
cars burp carbon and tear off
to the endless cities
the city and its miracles:
the transmutation of sweat
of employees and entrepreneurs
in the sweet intoxication of commodities
the multiplication of monetary bread
to satisfy the hunger of the god
insatiable
mamon
grinding dreams and bodies
in productivity algorithms
always alert
shout the market scouts
there are only human capitals
and constant learning
good men attend important meetings
in a suit and tie in the tropical heat
sacrifice their lives for the fate of the people
and then relax in luxury whorehouses
while the girls occupy the niche
of cheap pacifiers
for the beak makers
there is room for everyone
in the laissez-faire of the city
ladies hire decorators
and housewares for a clean home
& cool
go off the air
conditioning from home to car
and to the air of malls and gyms
and plastic clinics
watch from the window of their SUVs
the new entrepreneurs resting on the mattresses
rotten
from your home driveway
clean & cool
God is love
and fear
shouts the pastor of holy prosperity
there are only the chosen ones of Jesus
and those who didn't do justice
outside the city
collapses from tiredness
and grudge
* Wilton Cardoso is a poet and essayist. Literary blog editor, the dream engineer.