I wanted to write about poverty
About the people who are stinking poor,
Who can’t afford three meals a day.
Who trekked miles to work
And their work is looking for a job
Some of whom sleep in the streets.
I wanted to write about the drought
About the malnourished kids I see,
About the failing crop year after year
And the dry winds that pierce your skin
The thorns, and drying trees
The dead cattle, and dry banks.
But I couldn’t find the goddamn pen!
I had left my notebook in the limo.
So I sipped my wine enjoying last month’s increase,
And scolded my son for playing with food.
Then I switched the TV off and slept …
Knowing the grisly images would fill my nightmares.
