|
After
Katrina . . .
By
Latorial Faison If I were a poem,
I'd flow with fury right now
Separating wisdom and virtue
Without even knowing how.
If I were a poem,
I'd ride the beats of an African drum
Releasing fear and bitterness
Upon the rising of the sun.
I'd be poetic
words
In search of better tomorrows.
I'd be answers to questions
That have been birthed from our sorrows
Is it because of
our status
That help passes us by?
Is it because of history
That we watch each other die?
These are our
questions,
And we ask them duly,
But can anyone, will anyone
Answer us truthfully?
If I were a poem,
I'd flow with fury right now.
But because I'm human
I'll write the madness down.
We watched the
horror
As it played out on TV,
New Orleans in chaos
Under waters far too deep.
Black babies
crying,
The elderly weak and lost,
Americans left to perish,
As gangsters become boss.
Too many days
In filthy clothes,
When help will come,
Nobody there knows.
Streets paved in
trash,
No security in sight,
The dead left to die,
Where ever they might.
Horrific,
embarrassing,
A travesty it is . . .
When a government waits
To aid its own citizens.
And where was
America's
"Great White Hope" . . . ,
Securing the Middle East
From dictatorship's scope.
The world watched
in awe
As Americans endured hell.
And though help finally came,
There are still stories to tell
Of the natural
disaster
Known as Katrina
And the inept response
Of what America calls FEMA.
* * * *
* posted 10 September 2005 |
