A "State of the Union" speech. (With reference to the song, “The Park” by These United States)- From Section IV (Bent, Twisted, and Broken) of the Book "Diabolical Seas", a Poetic Communique from New Orleans, La. 2004-2013

We have this problem…
We keep searching for a savior,
A leader, bold and decisive.
Someone to keep the wolves at bay,
To chase the tears and fears that stain
Our cheeks, the rage that stays
Inside our lungs,
Inside our broken hearts!

We look for someone, unafraid.
Someone we think we know
Someone who knows the way
To put their best foot forward,
Push past the great disasters,
To take us to that Next Big Step:
That ray of hope,
That long and winding road
That leads us to prosperity and peace.

We have this problem…
We think everything’s important.
We leave no detail, undotted,
No decisions left to crossing t’s,
We know what’s on the shopping list.
We know what makes us happy.
We seek the safe majority,
The choices so much easier.
Decisions we can count on…
We are pinned here like a butterfly,
Overwhelmed and underfunded.
We barely hear the melody,
Though we recognize the dance.

We have this problem…
Everyone is trying to shape the future,
Bend it like a bumper,
Forged for our protection.
Trepidation drips like sweat,
Stings the eyes and blurs the vision.
We insist this Constitution.
We demand that Declaration.
Shift uncomfortably in our lawn chairs.
Then clench our fists in protest.
Red and Blue will vote tomorrow.
Desire is in the looking glass,
Yet we are shaken in reflection.
We kiss the rabbit’s foot for luck,
Drink the magic potion.
Five more hours of energy
With absolutely no rights
With nothing left in backpacks,
But holy books and bombs!

We have this problem…
We are living in a prism,
This place where light is splintered.
We pick our favorite color,
Each certain of exclusivity,
Of our own unique perspective,
A cold tint staining everything
For one more generation.

We say we’ll stand for something,
Like lines of armored officers,
Batons that beat like war drums,
Like teargas in our city streets,
We choke on our confusion,
Confronted by the answers,
The questions long forgotten,
In a world no longer ours to keep.

We have this problem…
We bear optimism like a burden,
Like oceans on our shoulders,
Like a sweatshop down in Bangladesh,
Like a pipeline through Afghanistan,
Like a Calvin Klein commercial
On a Chinese Television
The one that you had purchased
And brought out to the patio
With the burgers and the beer.

We have this problem
Trapped in backyard fantasies
We are eating watermelon.
We are jonesing for the weekend.
We are praying for the motherland.
We are drinking in the atmosphere,
While the boom-box drowns our thinking
And all the tricks unheard of
Are sprinkling like bad water
Upon the neighbor’s lawn.

We have this problem…
We can’t think
Of ANY living person.
No name that we can count on,
Not one.
Not one who can be trusted.
Not one who might be pure of heart,
Diogenes’ “one honest man”,
The last daydream believer…
Nowhere to be found!

And all along, we’re thinking,
Someone should be wiser, yes
One would be enough.
Then, like a great epiphany
Born of pre-apocalyptic notions
Learned in post-traumatic institutions,
We see no other other,
Other than Ourselves.

We have this problem…
Awash in revelations
We stay the revolution,
Shrug in resignation,
Embrace the insecurity,
Let go the dire predicaments
That rip from sea to sea.

And in our stoic stasis
We linger by the finish line,
We stand waiting for the fireworks,
Unaware of what will happen next,
Simply happy to be living
In this
Land of the brave,
In this
Home of the free!



Michael S. True
5-2-13 last edit 5-19-13