They say
the world has enough to feed us all;
they say
the "problem" is the "distribution."
And I ask
am I a leaf
taken off its stem
left to rot
to nourish the other bigger
loftier
plants?
Their eyes linger by the flecks of earth
dancing in the air
hesitantly they say
we are volunteers
they don’t tell us the answers...
you won't understand.

Will Obama really save me too,
like he is saving you?
They tell me so.
They tell me
my mother will not die;
they tell me
my diarrhea will end
my pain
my fear
will cease
when my lips don't part.

They say
politics is complicated
they say
politics is not for you, my young grasshopper
and chuckle
at the expression foreign to me
alien to the land on which I place my feet;
they say
politics gets in the way
they also say
politics,
with good players,
will save my life;
but what they are really saying is
politics will sacrfice me for the green
and greater peace.

Is politics meant to divide
you, me and him?
Is the problem politics? Or is it
you, me and him?

Please.
I don't read.
I don't write.
I don't have anything for you.
But my world's broken;
send me some tools
some wishes
I will patch up the roof
and I will remember
you have saved me
like you save your own kind.