I want my road signs cleaned of Swastikas and My walls, I want them white again. White like your so-called power, Which is actually a weakness. Because when you packed Your white hood Today, Nice and crisp in your briefcase, It reeked of the poison that is Slowly killing you from the inside, More quickly Everytime you drive to your rallies And point 'them' out to Your kids. (It's killing them, too, you know.) And when you go to sleep With that white hood of yours, Folded neatly under your pillow, I'll be there With my clean road signs and my Shiny new walls. And I'll be smiling, Because you just don't do that to road signs, No sir, Not in my neighborhood, You don't.
Reason for writing:
I was driving home, and as I turned into our subdivision, I
noticed that the speed limit sign was covered in White power
and swastikas. At first I thought Jeez, there are kids who
live by that sign. If it was someone in that our neighborhood
doing the graffitti, then who is going to keep that influence from
rubbing off on those kids? Then I thought Wow, that is some
great symbolism. So I used it. It's my favorite poem out of all that
I've written. Hope you like it.
Birth sign: Not entered
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