Dear Mr. President,
can you spare a minute
a second of your time
and understand
the words that hit
tear
and kick emotions so hidden
you never knew they existed?
I`ve resisted four years of emotions
to cook ramen noodles and corn bread
with a glass of tainted cherry Kool-Aid
and walk 3 miles to overcrowded and under constructed
public schools
to ensure my son would never be cast out
into the ranks of another statistic--
resisted it every blinking second
but momma can`t buy two dollar eggs
and three dollar quarts of milk that don`t do my body good-
Dear Mr. President,
what good does it do for me to starve and shiver
while you take golf trips and $100 a plate meals
from people that you`ve ensured and placed
into a tax bracket that`s good
than me or anyone in my neighborhood?
When was the last time you had to stretch five dollars
on a loaf of bread
a container a milk
and a stick of butter
knowing you had to choose one of three
cause you can`t afford the rest?
I mean,
you have to ask yourself
who had enough balls to take a surplus
and spend it like a ghetto queen on Rodeo Drive
placing ego and bull*bleep* right at the front door
as you climbed on to the podium
to lie and whimper "it`s all good"?
after all
who spends cable fees to extremities
and phone lines and light bills
just to see you masturbate and fake climax
off your own rhythm
in front of a national wide audience and interrupt
my Friends, Survivors and the Average Joe?
I`d rather write over candlelight and warm my soul
instead of standing in the cold
deaf dumb and blind
cause your rhythm and rhyme
don`t match
mesh
make or break my tape-
for my birthday I received a government pink slip
ensuring that my freedom of my skills
to pay my bills at that moment
was done in vain--
the pain I suffered between poverty and passion for poetry
caused these words to emerge
so now I`ll suffer poetic violence through conservative thought
and religious zealots that thought they heard the righteous words
from a burning Bush
only to realize later that their vision was blurred
by some smothering government regulated nicotine smoke
and a pot of burned overcooked Rice
left too long on the stove--
take a little walk over to South Dallas
or take a streetcar into Desire
or how about a long walk into North Philly
and ask if your constituents hear your words--
look a bit harder at the struggling mother
with 3 mouths to feed
if you could place your hog in her pot--
ask any innocent black and latino male
driving down the New Jersey Turnpike
or LBJ Freeway
how their driving is these days--
ask the grieving parents of over 900 dead soliders
if they can ensure you of their vote
as they glance into flag-covered caskets of stillborn lives
cut short over oil
gold
and nonsense

then ask yourself
if the weapon of mass destruction
isn`t you...

Copyright 2004 by aisha raison