Our Assets

The polls are open at 8 a.m.
and the folks line up to commit their sins
On the tiny computer screen that decides who wins
the future of America.

The banners wave,
The flags suspend
in the air and on the wind
and here we go to cast the vote
for who we think could take the toll
of answering a damned phone
at 3 a.m. when the polls are closed
except at the White House he or she is in.

I do not count him or her out
based on race or rant or creed or passion
But I do not count her or him in
just because the news says it's in fashion!

A Black, A Woman, and a Republican
walk into a bar in north Texas
and the mud flies through the air
as the Amazonian Lady-in-Waiting
Flies towards the Presidential Dream
representative of the female species
And the mad black man roars over
barstool and bench and table alike
to scratch out the eyes of Mr. "I did
not have sexual relations with that
woman" himself as the old man settles
in to watch the chaos that ultimately
will lead to his not-so-surprising victory
over the people that built America behind
the scenes:

The woman with dreams
and the black who slaved
to save the dreams of those
who gave their lives before
to build a nation that might
embrace in its arms the thought
of a man of a different color
rising to power -- but who also
must realize that his death
is only a majority away
and then who's to blame
for the tragedy of a nation
falling so shortly after
the election of a man
who stands for what
America always has
and never again will.

With liberty and justice for all
But not for you, or you
or you
or you
or you
or you
or me.