Katrina | By: Valerie Valano | | Category: Short Story - Getting Help Bookmark and Share

Katrina


I Am Just an American

I live in a country just over two hundred years old:
A country whose government wants to lead the world,
With a dream of democracy and freedom practiced throughout
Most of the world stands against us in reality, without a doubt.

American blood saturates in foreign soils while American children are starving, our streets are polluted with criminals, welfare is on the rise because our economy doesn’t pay to live, middle class America is a dying culture and to top off the worst demonstration, our governments response to Katrina stood second to foreign interests!

CNN anchors all eager to hear the dark reality of loss,
Terrorists sit laughing and planning I’m sure,
Humanity is losing, but no one will recognize the obvious!
As Katrina threw her tantrum our own government neglected us!

Cries of loss in a magnitude too great
Overwhelmed our televisions each day.
Our American leaders gave excuses one after another,
For the reason why foreign interests
Stood before our victimized brothers.


They’re coming soon mamma,
We’re Americans,
There’s nothing to fear!

“Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
Friday’s finally here!”

Mamma’s final thoughts
Must have been grim.
As her lungs filled with Katrina:
A forgotten American.

“I couldn’t hold on, I had to let her go,
That’s all we had! I ain’t got no more!”

The black man stood crying
As the world listened in,
Katrina kidnapped his wife:
A forgotten American.

We live in a country,
Around 200 years old.
We have a democracy
In which blood was sold.

We live in a country
Who tries to lead the world,
Our soldiers die and bleed
Fighting a foreign war!

If I could have a voice for just a moment in American history, I would address the government about humanity.
I would remind them that the American dream is not about power, but a living spirit that dwells in us all, a certain humility when we look upon those unfortunate, a gift of giving when our brother needs a helping hand, a breathlessness when an eagle soars high in the wind, a neighborhood that protects our children and above all, a spirit of honor for those who shed their blood for what they stood for, so that their future generations could prosper in greatness of this dream, we call “America.”

I am just an American.


















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