MOTHER NATURE HAS BECOME A TERRORIST

On Twenty-nine of August of Twenty-oh-five,

A disastrous trauma struck good U-S again,

The target this time was not New York;

This time it was the New known as Orleans.

The fakers holding the nation hostage

Attempt to feign concern while they fiddle ineptly

“For, after all, there aren’t the casualties we mourn!

They didn’t vote for me,

And they opposed me at every turn!”

And the smooch on the side reminded him,

“You forgot the worst of the sins!”

“Oh yes, they’re mostly black!”

But once the heat began to mount

He had to begrudgingly rush what little

Remained of the national guard and more

To get off his duff and save his skin.

At this he began to rail with the usual ineptitude:

“MOTHER NATURE HAS BECOME A TERRORIST!

It was SHE (and you’ll note as usual it’s a woman!)

Who sent her pet harlot Katrina to make like PMS

And making a mess out of one of my Old South faves

(yea, most of ‘em are darkies who did not vote for me!)

Now I’ve gotta send my pet harlot to stop a racism charge!

“I declare WAR on that diabolical mastermind Mother Nature!

I swear we will hunt her down until she is apprehended

If I have to profile everyone with a vagina and an ovary!

Just as soon as I can figure how to spare my pet harlot.”

When last we saw the terrorist known as Mother Nature

She was shooting lightning bolts as though they were bullets

At some incompetent who was shooting off his mouth

About his usual pigeonholing and profiling

All the while he was pretending to be a chief executive.

But even our latest wickedly smiling terrorist had to admit

That that clown was good at something after all.

He could dance pretty fast with the best of them.

“Was it something,” she mused, “to do with my help?”

ONE FOURTH MONDAY IN OCTOBER

(in memory of Rosa Parks)

Take no joy for October 24,

Not you a certain bus driver of Montgomery,

Or two certain policemen in that burg.

Not the burglar in Detroit on August ninety-four,

Or you upholders of Crow or your descendents “in charge.”

Certainly not the pair who fancy themselves “OutKasts”

Or the geek who dared swipe one’s very own name.

Not even the fictional barber who dared to diss one’s efforts

Or those so-called “real” critics who thought he should have been thanked.

And though this one deserves far better

Than to be praised by any of you,

October 24 of twenty-oh-five

Should not be called a great day by you,

For the body may be gone

But the essence is eternal.