by Jerry Ratch
Bring me your poor, your tired, your hungry
anyone skilled at evading highway tolls
Bring me your escape artists dangling upside down
in a straight-jacket from the sides of tall buildings
Don't let them starve in the prisons of the world
Bring me their plans for atom bombs and jet engines
their wikileaking brains and plots
Bring me your airplanes flying into buildings
We have big hearts and open minds
We will embrace them and let them own
our inner cities after our people are foreclosed out
of their homes
We love to live shivering under cold bridges
lighting fires in 55 gal drums
so we can watch the shadows dance on our faces
like the new television of the future
Who needs a telephone? Who needs a car?
Who really needs to cook whole turkeys
in 55 gal drums full of lard?
We love to lie in the dust and sleep under the rug
In fact, why not call us up from that sleep
and make us serve in an Army on remote windswept plains
and angry mountains where they keep
the eye in the forehead and the asshole of hell?
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Thank you for turning your rage in to poetry. Wish more people would do that!
Thanks, Katie!