“In April, the Los Angeles Times published an article about a going-away dinner for [Rashid] Khalidi that [Presidential candidate Barack] Obama attended in Chicago, Illinois, in 2003. Khalidi was leaving to become a professor at Columbia.
“The paper reported that a young Palestinian-American woman recited a poem at the… party that accused the Israeli government of terrorism for its treatment of Palestinians and was highly critical of U.S. support of Israel.”
— CNN.com, “Palin accuses Obama of ties to second ‘radical professor’“, 10/29/2008
Oh bad Obama!
How could you hear that woman and not run from the room?
How could you not stop your ears to her rhymed insinuations of injustice?
Were you too damned well-bred to object?
Oh bad Obama!
Real-Americans don’t tolerate criticisms of the U! S! A! from young Palestinian-American women!
Real-Americans don’t have college professor friends with funny-sounding names!
Real-Americans — let’s face it: don’t listen to pansy, egg-head, subversive poetry!
Oh bad, bad Obama!
You want to sit down with America’s enemies and talk?
Tell us instead who we’ll bomb and destroy!
Tell us who’s to blame for all our problems;
let’s find the dirty rats and waste ’em!
Show us your inner Tyrannosaurus rex, not your inner Barney!
We’re not a very civilized people,
here in Real-Amerika;
we want you to kill a deer,
or some kind of bird
(don’t pardon that White House turkey) –
then we’ll know you’re strong enough
to guard us from creeping nightmares!
Bad, bad, bad Obama —
O manchild at the gates of the Promised Land —
Right now I wish you would spit some shit
for the peeps in the street,
who are all down, Bro,
with that ‘change’ thing;
tell the Moose Lady that poetry
is a secret window to the soul;
a code spoken by radicals only;
something beyond her reality show range!
Let us hear you do the ‘dozens’!
Let us all hear some dangerous poetry!
Oh bad Obama — let yo’ Bad Self out!
Oh, my bad, Obama…
I know you’ve gotta break the frame,
not get caught in the game,
but the Real-You doesn’t matter
if they can’t get over your name!
It’s Zombie Time, and in Congo Square,
all the hungry zombies are voting there,
defying those real folks, always gettin’ fatter,
while zombie have nothing; do the real folks care?
All the ancient, storied haints are out tonight,
titillating themselves with fright,
hopes and horrors both in threadbare tatters,
scuttle the streets, keep away from the light.
For real, Obama:
now is the time to keep wits and witnesses around you!
The old America stinks of deadly contradiction; survivors are stunned;
your civilized veneer taunts those who find their views now shunned.
So be good, Obama!
There will be time for poetry in the morning;
time for that Voodoo, that you do, so well;
time for chicken blood and chocolates on the altar of Change-o.
— Mariann G. Wizard
© Dia de los Muertos, 2 nov 2008