A poem for Mr. President

[democrank]

Mr. President,

Neglect`s a callous weapon.
Ask folks from New Orleans.
Or for your off-day planning
ask a legless, young Marine.

You might just go to food lines
desperation`s test result
where thousands beg for mercy
and children go without.

A trip to a lost steel town
a ride past miner`s shacks, or
rows of rotting,idle boats
where men fished in days past.

Climb up hellish mountains
top floors you`ve never seen
in every city project
where hope dies as do dreams.

You`re bound to meet these families
of soldiers you`ve abused.
Many come from towns like this
where futures hang in ruins.

Many hoped to be someone
and make their Papas proud.
Many put their country first
and volunteered their souls.

Let me bend your ear a bit
and mention what I know.
Lots and lots of small-town folks
abhor the lies you`ve told.

Their kids died in the Humvees
you sent with much less thought
than any speech you ever gave
on winning in Iraq.

Some kids never come back home
the same or even close.
They die although their body lives
a shell of what`s feared most.

When I see your disconnect
your pampered, shallow style
my thoughts lock onto deja vu
and names etched on The Wall.

Just the way it is, they say
some sacrifice, some don`t.
Like Cheney on his game preserve
while Building 18 rots.

Your deeds won`t meet with glory.
Your lies won`t save your soul.
Neglect is such an odd thing
it sometimes makes us bold.

It sometimes leads to courage.
It sometimes gives a choice
to those in heaps in plain sight
those now in one joined voice.

Gone now the backdrop`s slogans.
Gone now the idle talk
of your great big adventure
democracy in Iraq.

Instead the lines are forming
beneath the peace sign`s glare
where average folks are marching
to end their own despair.

From Maine to California
your arrogance on trial.
Our mission is accomplished.
The truth beat out denial.

The day will come before you
when all that`s left is shame
for what you are and what you`ve done
in spite of your last name.