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.