turning in his grave…

dad’s grand old party
is now a religious cult
hate’s blind followers

 

this ain’t no mass thing…

i
drove
aunt bea
to her
new doctor’s office
but
waited outside
as
instructed
aunt bea
said
i can be
my own advocate
and
trust me
that’s true
she
informed
her
previous doctor
that
patients
at his place
were
treated
as if
they were
at
a jiffy lube shop
and
the only thing
getting greased
was
his palm

 

as children die…

from beneath the wall
streams of blood started flowing
passers-by looked down
then stepped over the warm blood
their evening meal was waiting

 

before you go into your conscience car wash…

help me understand
you’re willingly supporting
a racist rapist
are you really profiting
that much from selling your soul

 

selective blindness…

outside post office
holding a sign and a child
no one reads the sign
no one even turns a head
nation refuses to see

 

the blind man’s crime…

 

when death
came
to the old man
he was surprised
to find himself
at
hell’s gate
what have i done
he cried
was it not enough
that
i was sightless
in
a sighted world
ah said satan
you refused
to
listen
and
respond
to the misery
you heard
all around you
instead
you bemoaned
your own lot
on
earth
as i recall
from
my
extensive studies
of
the good
book
that’s
a sin of omission

 

becoming nothing…

 

as a child
he had watched
the story
of pinocchio
and
had giggled
at
the thought
of
one’s nose
growing
with
each lie
told
indeed
he had tested
the
hypotheses
and
found
no evidence
to
support it
so
when
he joined
government
he had no qualms
about
lying
to his constituency
such
betrayal
was part
of
his future plans
for
becoming
one
of
life’s emperors
but
with each lie told
the embodiment
of
the person
the
public
had elected
slowly
became
invisible
like pieces
removed
from
a chess board
his
endgame