The don can be man or woman,
Herewith called he,
but could just as well be she.
The don hears the truth not.
For him denial is a river in Egypt.
He buys his friends,
rescuing them from catastrophes
to bind them to him.
He makes the rules,
because his hands are in the gold.
He cannot keep your secrets,
but he withholds information from you.
He speaks to you as though he is plural.
He employs thieves to do his dirty work.
He thinks he is genetically superior,
and you’re not.
He does not pay taxes, or alms to the poor,
but will sell what is not yet his or what does not yet exist.
The average man will bail him out
when the bottom falls out of his money system.
But with all the politricksing,
he can never take away the poet’s irie,
because the poet does not need all the things the don needs,
the poet needs only his voice,
but his voice is threatening,
because it blows like a whistle.
But the don can’t kill the poet,
because the poet will become a martyr,
And through the poet’s death,
all the people will hold the power.
Copyright © Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012. All rights reserved.
This poem is linked to dVersepoets Open Link Night, Tuesday 7 February 2012. DVerse Poets Pub is a place where poets and writers gather to celebrate poetry.