Last night, I watched the culmination of the Democratic National Convention. I'm sure glad I finally acquired a television set. It's been a few years since I've had tv, but I've gotten so used to being clueless as to what shows are popular that I might as well not have a set taking up 18 plus inches in my living room. Clinton was the first President I voted for and Clinton will be the first female President I vote for. I had planned on posting an interview an editor for this week, but all the parts are not yet in my mailbox so I will share a poem that I wrote over a year ago after hearing President Obama's eulogy for Reverend Pinckney last June. One of the videos this week, reminded me of the poem. Sometimes a word or an image will remind me of a poem that I have tucked away in a notebook or on my computer. This one was easy to find.
Our President Sings Amazing Grace
For the slain Reverend Pinckney and nine
of his flock. Bible study will never again
be sitting in the same room, breaking bread,
discussing all things of importance, faith
On the other side of the fence, a divided
nation, the crazies call an obama nation, an obamination,
an-oh-not-my president nation.
Since when is the President, not your President?
Will you move to Canada?
Oops. You forgot Canada allows equal marriage.
Will you move to France?
You forgot France will not tolerated your ignorance.
That's right. You don't speak the language.
Go back where you came from.
Is your solution a fence?
Because all of a sudden you notice the town you live in,
the street your house is on is not spelled in English.
English only. You voted for it.
A Mexican told you. I will marry your daughter
and you will eat nothing but burritos,
burritos three times a day.
Which flag will you fly?
Will you hold up stars and stripes,
rebel stars and bars,
or will a white dove help you
with a white handkerchief?
For your pain, for my pain, for their pain, for our pain,
President Obama Sings Amazing Grace.
How Sweet the Sound...