We ainít scared of no filthy Arabs.


ďWe ainít scare of no filthy Arabs, man,Ē

the homeland security guy told me,

while he was moonlighting guarding

the exclusive country club in Jersey,

ďWeíre worried about the filthy poor:

the guy whose home the bank just took

because a rich guy needed to build a townhouse,

or the children of the old folks who

social security cuts couldnít cover

medical costs and let them die,

or the black man whoís a junkie

just like his father and his father before him

because us Republicans cuts funding to

his anti-drug addiction programs,

or the working man who Reagan ripped off

by sending his job overseas leaving him

with a mortgage he canít pay for and

children who look down on him,

or the mother working three jobs

to keep up with rents she couldnít afford with ten,

or the cab driver or truck driver or boat repair guy

who can cover the cost of gas because

the rich oil barons keep upping the fees,

or the bread baker put out of business

because of tax incentives Republicans gave

the bread manufacturing plant,

or the farmer whose land the developer stole

with the help of governmentís eminent domain,

or the father who canít see his kids because

some slick lawyer knew the law better than he did,

the frustrated downtrodden and the still bitter and betrayed,

who might want to strike back at us because

we got what they had and they canít get back.

It ainít Jews stealing land from Arabs, man,

Itís rich Jews stealing from poor Arabs,

Just like its rich Saudis enslaving poor,

And rich Russians killing poor Soviets

So we donít have to give back what we took.

Who pays for Bushís war and the contracts he gives

To his friends, if the rich are getting tax breaks?

We ainít afraid of the Arabs, man,

We know who they are.

But the poor here donít need no fake id,

They donít even need no internet to find where we are

And how to get us,

They know who we are and where we are,

and how to get us,

and you know the worst part, man,

the part that scares the living crap out of me,

is that they look just like us.Ē


poetry menu

Main Menu

email to Al Sullivan