Poem for Topic 4--for Slam '04. |
We all thought that it was a shame the way they found him his ego straight-up, drunk, and shrunken. Saddam had first toppled down like an ancient Sphinx settling in the dust, they had pulled down his statue and on T.V. the mad media pumped another horror scene. They told me what I already knew, that men in high places will sometimes cry wolf bent on shaking up the world, they are dangerous. I wasn't sure if I was going to listen to those philosophizing their politics ever again, Saddam could have been the last man on earth to circle the sun with intrepidations needled with notorious history begging off the act of not communicating, but I doubt it. It's nice to believe, though. Now they say that country is on the mend somewhere out on a desert. I remember how the plight of malnutrition was so compelling and giving us the image of friendly, sympathetic to indigent spaces, peacefully feeding mouthes. It is like eating hemlock, reading the newspapers. Tell me what I already know. Can you console the public for me, at dead soldiers? Or, do you bolt at the sound of horses hooves? I can laugh at my intimidations. No-one cares about an old lady who had a peace symbol around her neck, that gawdy thing. Keep your pink socks on, and don't look left or right. Imagine! Me crying "Evil!" at you. When I see it all, I watch the weather channel, for some sunny day. |