New Orleans

With the water rising high,
Mangled bodies floating by,
With a broken, empty eye,
Looking up at leaden sky,
Levee funds cut on the sly,
The world asking: Why, oh why?
Money going to Iraq,
Where they our dead boys stack,
While elites, who never toil,
Make their profits on the oil,
Not protecting our soil.

Leaders of our land,
What is your game,
Don't you care,
Have you no shame?

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2006 Alfred Charasz