by shawn misener
I havenâ€™t seen an unemployment line,
but I have seen an unemployment room
stuffed with computers and people
who will help if you raise a hand.
My romantic visions of withstanding
the brutal winter in a jagged line
of forlorn men have not come true.
I expected to be huddled up and
shivering in that line as it stretched
around abandoned brownstones for miles,
men in depression caps, expressionless,
black and white coloration over the scene,
waiting for that loaf of hard bread and
maybe a pint of milk kept barely cold enough.
No, this was no high suffering,
this was a clean, well-carpeted room,
dotted with wide fat screens and
put-together people designated as helpers.