Hundreds of thousands, no millions, I guess,

Of Americans get up each morning and dress

In denim or tweed, polyester or silk,

Wash down some breakfast with coffee or milk,

Pack lunch for the kids, see them off to school,

Catch the 8:05, 'can't be late, stay cool'.

Noses to grindstones or buried in books,

Getting the work done, frantic looks

At the clock, hoping break time is maybe here.

'Oh good, lunchtime is getting near'.

Manning jackhammers, attending each client,

Punching a time clock or self—reliant..

Mom has grown wheels as she chauffeurs the teams

Back and forth to practice, 'Relax?  In my dreams!'.

In Grandma's life the comforts of age should lurk

But  most grandmothers nowadays have to work.

Dad gets home weary from the day's helter—skelter,

Has dinner, then helps out at a homeless shelter.

These are the lives if everyday medium folk,

Who have no idea they're Inside—the Beltway's great joke,

And pay their taxes to support  these effetes,

Many of whom aren't worthy to sweep the streets.

Each time one of these predators strays,

In the Oval office, or other inexcusable ways,

Forgiveness is asked, mea culpas made.

Should we look away?  Nuts!  We've been betrayed!

Mimi Evans Winship    10 04 06