Boom

a poem by George Wallace (Suffolk County, NY)

a convention of mad wounds on the rooftops.
a convention of snake children crawling through the rafters.
mr president there is a hole in the superdome.
everyone chopped up in a collard wind.
mr president the chemical plants go boom.
orphans go boom. the sick and the poor.
the tourists and the crazy. and especially the lame.
all go boom. this was my collar bone, boom.
this was my wife, boom. my fertile crescent.
my rest in peace. my party on. my big easy.
big blue boom. big yellow boom.
where is the governor? boom!
where is the levee? boom!
new orleans wrapped in darkness.
gunboats in pontchartrain.
where is the president? boom!
the head of a boy who floats in oil.
here comes a telephone pole.
there goes an anchor man.
here comes a drug addict.
there goes a refinery.
where are the corporations?
living in jets in the sky.
where is the president?
bathed in american crude.
the gulf of electricity is our living room.
the dividend of greed is our bed.
we have been eating cheap energy.
we have been drinking mississippi mud.
give us this day our daily drudge.
give us back our cellphones.
give us this day our greyhound bus.
airlift our eyes.
take our stomachs away.

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I recommend the Episcopal Relief and Development Fund. Other worthy and reputable charities are listed by the fine folk at Truth Laid Bear