Other People’s Pain

The money comes from other’s pain

And goes to healing other’s pain

 

I do not cause the pain

I simply take it’s photograph

 

I search the pain out in small towns

And hidden city parks

 

Some towns so proud

Some towns ashamed

 

But few take steps

To put the pain away

 

And so I search it out

And photograph this ancient pain

 

Bottle it and sell it off

To those who relish it

 

And each time it sells I wonder

Should I keep doing this?

 

But take their money either way

And teach children art, science and nature

 

And spit in those old racists eyes

And have perhaps the last images

 

Of racists dreams

And my friends fears.

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This entry was posted in American History, Poetry, Social Justice, The Wandering Yankee and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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