I know what's said at your kitchen table. These short sighted dismal regurgitations, That ancient hate of darker complexions and the Ones the dot the downtown. Homeless beggars, thieves, drunks, Stealing from the Good Man Trying to make a living.
I know what's seen in your bathroom mirror. That sunburnt toiling skin, weathered from Actual work while these wastes get handouts and leave their children running
Unsupervised, wild. Uncaring...
Needing to be saved by the Good Man With Birth Alerts and interventions.
I know what's muttered under your breath.
Adjusting your rearview mirror, shaking Your head as the Rez Escapees dare cross your line of vision, shuffling Down the sidewalk. Wincing, You can ignore them, a Good Man just doing his thing, in goodness.
Godless judging white knuckled fog of men Suffocating Mother Earth's children.
I know what's said at your kitchen table Cuz your fifteen year old kid - in his invinceable zest,
Smirking and goading - repeated
Everything you said there,
Word for Word, with a Soul Eating Glare.
(By Crystal Semaganis)