Chicano Poet

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

The Commander-in-Chief Speaks To The Troops

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden,
along with the desert sand

there’s gonna be a little death,
here a death, there a death,
everywhere a death.

You won’t find roses growing in the desert,
there are no silver platters out there.
I could promise you the moon

but the desert ain’t no better than moon rocks,
still waters run deep
so you’d better learn to swim in blood.

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
because the Rose Garden belongs at the White House.


At 11:20 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...


He are a drunken driver with a silver spoon
his Junker father spat into his tomcat mouth
(they is an old-time family founded on appointments,
an oily bunch of skull-and-boney schoolyard bullies).

He are no self-made man, no rocket scientist,
but just a five-to-four minority pretender,
a spastic spoiler of subject-verb agreement,
a legacy admission threatening to use

tactical atomic weapons to destroy
reinforced Iraqi bunkers underground.

— January / February 2003

At 10:35 AM, Blogger RC said...

Thanks,Andrew.Sometimes I wonder if the President is DWI while driving the biggest car of all,the country!

At 12:17 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I like this bit of trivia: who was in the car with GWB when he was arrested for DWI?

At 12:21 AM, Blogger RC said...

I don't know that trivia,who was it?I'm curious now.


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