to my stomach in my soul
and you say there is nothing to be done about it.
(But if I need to lose weight fast, there are,
at least, five 800 numbers to call.)
and you scrutinize my pleas for mercy and just
dismiss me with the flag.
(But if I need a boost in my day, there are
at least, five different drinks you can dispense.)
When did my grande soy chai latte
become more important than the ribs I can
count on a five year old refugee?
my political slant,
my eating habits,
if you can,
the last time you gave a fuck
or worried about faith, hope, and love
more than an expletive.
When will they see our love
as much as our willing ignorance?
When will their corpses weigh as much
(on our minds)
as the rising costs of fuel?
When will human life break
through the barrage of endless euphemisms?
These colors don’t run.
Indeed they don’t.
Instead they flow,
coursing through the streets,
in the streets.
There are WHITE
faces of death.
Under BLUE skies
We turn our heads
towards the grass,
greener on our side.
Green like Lady Liberty.
Green to line our pockets.
I, you, us, me.
Forget them: We.