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It’s not the ones we hurt who
are at fault and should lead the charge
at making amends.
Former slave traders and owners must
recognize a need to repair the abuse,
crimes and lies—
I’m talking about the “White” bloodline!
If your English or European last name
is donned by an African person, surmise
with me that slave-owning is in your
family history.
Join me, and push for a fund, level the field,
and give enough to apologize for the wrong,
donate money or even a song.
Just admit the fault with me, and watch
karma go up in this country!
“CNN Sucks” is the motto of a favorite
Trump supporter, retweeted by the
former reality show star.
The Twitter user goes by @Fuctupmind,
posted a GIF representing Donald Trump
knocking Hillary Clinton over with a golf
ball.
Excuse me while I mute the screen during
drug ads or anytime the supposed president
speaks.
Right now the Idiot in Chief is whining at
the United Nations to “reform!”
I am giggling at the hypocrisy, anyone from
the peace-hating United States with its covert
war operations and lust for world domination
through military intervention speaking to the
World Peace group held hostage in New York
about reforming.
Them reform! “Be the change you want to
see in the world,” said Gandhi—but so many
people do not read but for the headlines at
Fox News, news reports that paint your
ideas in a good light.
History is boring, let’s pop some prescribed
pills and watch some TV.
Let’s hit up our doctors for more, I’m sure
I must have ADD, diabetes, cancer in my
membrane—I’m going insane, forget God
and real healing!!
Damn the side effects, I’m on this wide road
to Hell and I like it, it suits me, there is no
afterlife so don’t bother me!
After I hit some more golf balls, then imagine
hitting my enemies with them, I plan
to stop by the club and count my money.
Let’s threaten nuclear war on Twitter, then
go to the United Nations and preach about
reform, we’ll do lunch later—grab ‘em by the
pussy.
Never mind the Indian. The treaty we broke
to kill them.
Slavery that built the south, was never
compensated for—let’s just pretend it
didn’t happen, train our cops to shoot for
the torsos, “immigrants” must go, which
is great for Native Americans who would
finally be left alone.
Reforming ourselves starts with me reforming
me; look at yourself and what could give
you peace of mind.
Unfortunately, some don’t change—yell their
right to be wrong from the grave.
Left with words and prayer, it seems insufficient
to remember a trail of tears, children bombed
in Birmingham, civilians mowed down at
Amritsar, India—an eight year old girl machine
gunned in Trump’s Yemen raid.
I love you, don’t get me wrong. I love the child
within the Donald, the abused kid—brought up
racist by an abusive father.
Stand up with me, Trump—come to God with
me, climb the mountain that Samuel climbed
and withdraw our desire to have people leading
people,
it’s time to go back to God.
***
In high school, I was a manorexic hustler begging
for food amongst the rich, with no premonition
or self-delusion of future word surges about
Resistance and change.
It could be a case of Hollywood overreach, but
I dream of meaning beyond the surge—call it
a word Slurpee calling us out of our alcoholes
so Jacked the Ripper misses the glory no more,
mistakes are mistakes;
We sleep in the bed we make, the Last Gasp
of the racist white bigot hiding unprompted
under prompter prompts—a misprision of
Kushner debt, the Russians asking for sanctions
relief while sitting on Crimea’s face, Ukraine’s
base.
We restrict children from voting, even if they
know and care more than us, Hoover’s
corrupt FBI growing thicker by the minute,
even next to Comey apologies, there’s still
a little matter like, I dunno,
Killing Martin Luther King, John Lennon
and the Kennedy’s. Anyone who got in the
way of profitable war by promoting inconvenient
Peace!
Girthy homicide leading to noise-polluting
planes, helicopters committing more crimes
for law than the criminals they seek, wild animals
running for the hills, commit suicide in the creek,
Freud’s id—
Say a prayer for our pilots, who thought it right
to fly loud and fast and high in the night. Sunday
driving, polluting at sunrise, whatever I feel like
doing—it’s my world to lies supply!
F the bible, Tao Te Ching and the quiet, losers
all of them—I’m happy in my Hell!
So reform, all you sinners at the UN
who whine about world peace, follow
me, my hair and undisclosed tax returns
to the bank, bring a camera—a nuclear war
could be good for ratings!
I forgive you, Donald, but can’t speak for
God if you drop another bomb on suspects
of terrorism while they sleep, the eight-year
old girl you murdered redeemed in this
Tweet—
Call it a tweet storm, a moral sleet, hail,
Donald Trump, who was last chosen first,
God bless our abused and confused
on this long return to our youth.
Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet 