Rest Easy Good Citizens by Andre de Korvin

This is not a call
to revolution,
not a call
to take up arms.

It’s the man who watches
boats drift on the river
all day long.
The man who woke today,

tired of hearing
the myth of hard times now
and good times coming.
Tired of seeing day after day

the stock ticker
zigging and zagging its way
through fog shrouded crystal balls.
The man who watches boats,

and has no shoes, wants to expose
the lies, to tell It
like it is.
Tell It like it is

to the people, the leaders
the drifters, the supreme court
to people like him that have no shoes.
The great A+ dream, he starts,

the A+ dream,
not A+ for everyone.
Not A+ for the working poor
sinking below the line,

the unemployed, for those who live
in substandard houses,
who live in tents, subways
and under bridges

and who don’t want to live.

Not A+ for laid-off people,
those with part time jobs
and no benefits,

the 40 plus million
with no health
and no dental insurance.
The man who watches boats

wants to scream
but it’s not for him alone
he wants to scream.
He wants to scream for all

those too tired to speak,
for those who watch boats
and have no shoes.
The dream not A+

for the elderly whose daily choice is
food or medication,
who eat cat food,
dog food, who don’t eat,

women who can’t get maternity leaves.
Not A+ for those with heat cut off
in the middle of winter,
who die on sweltering summer days

because they can’t pay the rent,
who have no phone, no id,
those afraid to apply for foodstamps
welfare and Medicaid,

the million and a half who filed
for bankruptcy last year.
Not A+ for illegal aliens
working as slaves in sweatshops,

shotguns pressed against their heads.
Not A+ for those
working 70 hours a week
by their employer’s dictate,

forced to pay more and more of
their insurance and pension costs,
who live in reservations,
who live in ghettos,

who live in cars.
Not A+ for those walking the streets
because they have no place to go,
who have come to the dead

end of their lives,
who can’t wait to die.
The man who watches boats
and has no shoes

screams there would be beauty
in red flames lovingly kissing
the walls of every police station,
making them blush scarlet.

Beauty, he screams,
in the 80 foot chimney
crashing on roofs of federal buildings,
beauty in a herd of unicorns charging

windows of downtown banks.
Beauty in the big bang carrying
Wall Street in small pieces
to the four corners of the world.