Political Noir

political pome

    

 

stuff shirted leftie lock steps

self-righteously away

from any blame

for the homeless dead

on a cold Manhattan

party night,

 

he's got a meeting

where they'll fix that blame,

call for actions,

and smoke and snort

more than enough

to keep alive

those wretched ones

for quite some time,

 

the clubs then beckon

where music is politics

to their ears, where

waitresses provocate,

where a tip is worth a feel,

where the wallet is the heart

and heat of all issues,

 

oh yes, please save us all now

with long winded words

about justice and peace,

we would believe anything

that lets us look elsewhere,

some place where dictators

mediate at workshops

to learn the moves,

talk the talk,

and give us something

to hate beyond our own reach,

something we can  do nothing about

but get some deep doped sleep

where the blessed dead

jump over fences

to bring us their love