Lucky Strikes
They crazy?
They lame?
They bombed living
migrant bodies
Valium in volume
Pushing dust in a handcart
Trying to sell wheres:
"Where is my son?"
"Where is my mother?"
"Where is my Mercy?"
Mercy?
We do not see
How free are we?
Lying in slippery fibs
compliant complainers
We, lucky?
Suffer slow
snack on our vengeance
Crave the buttered bread of better
than you.
Suck down oiled up democracy
Burp up arrogance in tune
with pop song anthems
We pretend the slaughter is only on television
And go on naming missiles after our grandchildren.
by Ihsan Muhammad copyright August 2007