What we’re told.
A black president is proof that America has arrived,
That race is no issue in American life,
Yes, opportunity will take us to the privileged side.
… Congressional leadership
Meanwhile Capitol City features a power cast,
The chinless Senat-ureon declaring Bama’s time won’t last,
And Orange-man agrees the die is color-cast.
The Capitol Dome: once symbolizing freedom, is now corporate gold,
Where elites bought our farm and have reason to be bold.
… Wall Street fraud
Bringing down banks with worthless paper trails,
As our assets and futures have openly failed.
Banks are tanking as the election proceeds,
Bama and John speak while frenzy feeds.
The Bama steed, corporate chiefs were mounting,
While John McSame, electoral votes he was counting.
Years have passed and coupons have been clipped,
And the American people finally know they’ve been gypped.
The hurt of recession still visits the poor,
And income and wealth vacated most doors.
America’s division, now powered with thrust,
There’s poverty without justice, it’s found in the dust,
The other is penthouse, with money to spare.
… No safe place to be non-white
Thus visions we see as we turn on the news,
A black man taken down, a choke hold subdues.
We don’t hear his voice, his face pushed into the ground,
Saying, “I can’t breathe,” until there’s no sound.
There’s a scene at the Capitol, Jamie Dimon, he’s awed,
Some members of Congress want to shake his executive paw.
Dimon’s sub-bank in Britain is duly ignored,
While drug lord money is sought and stored.
Escaping guilt and paying a fine, Dimon’s star still does shine,
Too big to fail but still corrupt, Chase Bank is still f….. up.
Meanwhile blacks are profiled, stopped and jailed,
Two systems of justice: we truly have failed.
Vignettes of the oppressed, drawing dramatized images,
They’re like a gamed spectacle of sporting scrimmages.
…Too Big to be black.
Dorian Johnson walking with his friend, Brown,
In the streets of Ferguson, close to downtown.
Too big to be black, perhaps Wilson decided,
So he shoots with an attitude at an animal he derided,
Six shots thru Brown’s body, death shots with hands raised.
Dorian’s story not sought, ‘cept by media and feds,
FPD had the right to remain silent, so nothing was said.
In the street like garbage Michael’s body does lie,
Residents see for hours, how cruelly he died.
An air of dense FPD guilt, leaves it to double-down threat,
With help from the county, with a militarized set,
Protect is for Wilson, and serve for the police,
The threat is for citizens, their lives are on lease.
Tense days pass, and assault weapons disappear at last.
…White and non-white
Profiling and detainment, for us doesn’t go down,
Explaining white distance from Trayvon Martin and Brown.
We can’t relate to beleaguered brown and black,
To grieving mothers and protesters’ flack,
Or cowardly slaying in Miami housing tracks.
Then they came for us.
The ranks of oppressed can eventually grow,
Next coming for us till our well being unflows.
Though we know that something is totally wrong
We think it has distance from harried white throngs.
… That is, until freedom and plenty is gone.