Ayotzinapa
Ayotzinapa
the word didn't fit in my mouth,
the crime still doesn't fit in my head.
Mexico gagging
projectile vomiting
the black night's heartless sin.
Now in the sun of the Aztec
the world sees the government's
terminal inadequacies.
Money, greed, privilege, all status quo,
pero la sangre del futuro?
Stains on rulers' hands.
They paraded themselves
as progressive,
but all the eyes see
is progressively worse.
Adding blatant murder
to their stained repertoire.
The people crying for justice,
the people demanding change.
The cubicle jockey job is only a cover. Writer of poems, observations, and short stories.
Posted in: poemsocial consciousness