Abundance of Caution

My abundance of caution

Is out of proportion

My embarrassment of riches

Soils my britches

At the end of the day

There's a price to pay

To keep my bottom line

In the black until time

I'm losing my mind

To find the same kind

Of people to include

In supply lines of food

Too cautious to mend

Too tired by day's end

The people I keep

Along with me, creep

The boat won't rock

When the water is the dock

Of unrockable currents'

Unshockable occurrence

We vermin — better than yours

Safety in numbers slams the best doors

But all of us under our rugs

Are still in a world of bugs

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About this poem:

People living under dictatorships and despots just sigh and and muse, "Whatcha gonna do?""What can be done?" "What can I do?"

The cement of acquiescence hardens even more over time when people just give up to the status quo because, after all, that's the way it's always been. And that cement is the unshakeable substrate against which one cannot rock the boat. Not without a lot of trouble.