Poetry

You Can’t Speak Grievance, You Can Only Translate It.

wearing my convictions like a condiment stain
all catch up to throw down on the great unwashed
a bleached tale wagging the dog, people
get ready there’s a change a comin’

you can’t speak truth to power unless you
can translate grievance to a balance sheet
the prime time bottom line that commodifies
the capitalist bookends; myth and money
and the manifest destiny of neighbors, sons,
and daughters murdered en masse in your neck
of the woods

Happy Campers master the rhetorical devices of 
the rent-seeking. Lease the lyric and sing your sad song. Others will hum along, if your words chorus the requisite courage.

You Can’t Speak Grievance, You Can Only Translate It.


NaPoWriMo April 3 2017

Published by r.Douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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