Thursday, September 20, 2007

California For Iraq

As your bare feet twist
In the sensuous date fields
And your hips sway to the cracked desert floor,
I will drink with you.

My smelly fat brothers
Have defiled your ancestors,
Pumping your oiled land
With steel cocks of industry.

I am obese with guilt
My stomach is full and soft,
Yours, empty and hard.
My house is warmed by the bones
That broke from your grandfathers.
My blankets are wove from fibers
Once the sleek muscles of your youth.

Dipped into my nation's pie
Is the cherry
Red from your people's blood.
My father's guns
Have impaled me.
I am yours now.
I am the poorest.

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