There’s no money, they say,
To feed the hungry in the streets.
Its not cost effective, we’re told,
To provide healthcare for the sick and the weak.
Can’t expect a hard working coal miner,
living below the poverty level,
To pay for art, culture and PBS.
But there always seems to be a few million dollars laying around
To shoot missiles at brown people in the Middle-East
Who pose no threat to our borders or citizens.
A mission of selfless mercy, they say,
For those poor brown children gassed by their government.
The same poor brown children we closed our borders to
Because two years vetting simply isn’t extreme enough
To know for sure if they’re terrorists or not.
From whom are million dollar missiles bought?
Which stockholders’ coffers are filled
Each time the trigger is pulled?
There’s no hesitation to start a war
When corporate oligarchs know
They won’t pay the bill,
They’ll just collect their fees,
Consolidate their power;
And watch the TV ratings soar.
Its the poor plebeians who pay,
With their blood
And the blood of their children,
Ground up in the gears of the great American
Cui Bono (pronounced”Koo-ee Bo-no”) is an old Latin phrase that means, roughly, “Who benefits?”
Poem #10 for National Poetry Writing Month (aka #NaPoWriMo)