Thu
Feb
5
Hahahahhahahahahahahahahahahaha….
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha,
ohhh poetry.
It is hilarious.
But not really…
It is quite my favorite thing
much as laughter is
so here is a poem
I wrote recently:
America
your streets paved
with unemployed ex-CEOs
and still Indians
far from India
sadly, slowly driven away
by a past they should not forgive
and where were you
when slaves were shipped over from Africa
to be raped and hanged
suspended
in the pursuit of happiness?
and where were you
when women were thrown in jail
for their desire to vote,
immigrants tossed about
like the trash worker, sorting rubbish
still, with hands painted red
as cherries from a tree
that I cut down, I admit.
America—how can we ask
what became of you
because things didn’t start out
so damn perfect.
You could only float, America,
these colors don’t run
the world, America
you’re not the perfect symbol
of freedom, America,
frankly there are still hurdles to jump,
America, become what you say you are.
