Cost of Being Equal
They opened the market early to auction off equity.
I stood in the crowd, watching the slow death of equity.
The brokers wore suits stitched from second chances,
their pockets deep as silence, the true cost of equity.
A woman raised her hand to bid her breath away,
her voice trembling like a receipt for equity.
I saw my mother’s pay slip framed in dust,
her years of labor traded for a rumor of equity.
They said everyone’s included, but the doors had guards.
Admission itself was the first lie of equity.
Even the air had numbers, the clouds ticked profit.
The rain refused to fall without a share of equity.
I wanted to shout, but the floor was glass,
and every sound came back priced in equity.
Somewhere, a child builds castles from ledgers,
learning how dreams depreciate without equity.
A man burns his degree to keep his hands warm,
the smoke curls upward, spelling equity.
What good is the promise if it comes with interest?
Even mercy has a market where they’re selling equity.
O world, when did you turn fairness into a brand?
Tell me, what god signed the deed to equity?