Poem for that Idiot

LET ME COUNT THE CLICHES


the Director of FEMA
Michael Brown inspires,

Where's the brown beef
in your Styrofoam brain?

Hold the mustard on the highways
while black and brown people starve.

Is that bottled water in your pocket
or are you happy to see my black baby die

of dehydration and dysentery?
Don't put off until tomorrow what you

should have done five days ago
while you scratch your rashy ass.

Don't pee on my leg and tell me
it's raining and that the National Guard

will be here today.
Your face looks like it's been hit

by the LIAR stick.
This won't be over until your

fat crony jowls sing When the FEMA
Saints Don't Come Marching In.