Everything I write about is
Political in some way or another.
I’m influenced by my environment;
By the working class that once was
A Middle class neighborhood.
Every time I write about
politics it sounds preachy
Do I really have to restate how the mishandled economy is ruining everyone’s life?
How my business friends are barely making it.
Somehow, I find it crass to speak of these obvious things—
You want politics, pick up a newspaper, it’s filled with political tragedy.
Poetry should be reserved for the beautiful things in life,
The things worth living for:
The morning sunshine that sneaks through the blinds into my room.
The love I see in my children’s almond eyes.
The smell of garlic on
My sticky fingers.
The yearning sensation I experience when touching my
And that proud feeling I get when
A sentence comes together.