I WANTED TO WRITE

I wanted to write about poverty
about the people who are stinking poor,
who can't afford three meals a day.
Who trekked miles to work
and their work is looking for a job
some of whom sleep in the streets.

I wanted to write about the drought
about the malnourished kids I see,
about the failing crop year after year
and the dry winds that pierce your skin
The thorns, and drying trees
The dead cattle, and dry banks.

But I couldn't find the goddamn pen!
I had left my notebook in the limo.
So I sipped my wine enjoying Last months increase,
and scolded my son for playing with food.
then I switched the TV off and slept ...
Knowing the grisly images would fill my nightmares.