YES, YOU CAN (vs. “I Got Mine, You’re Just Lazy”)
“We can’t afford health care for all.”
Give thought to this statement, really
feel the false sense for security and heed
the inherent greed of being American…
So you don’t get your MRI today.
If it’s not urgent, you can wait a week.
And speaking of tests, doctors overdo
that aspect, suspecting you might sue.
No one really needs a tummy tuck
as part of their health insurance.
How about a diet instead? Better saggy
than dead. Last longer, feel stronger.
My friend told me, in tears, that she
and her family of three have no doctor,
no clinic. Cynic that I am, I look to
Washington, awash in Cadillac plans
and think, “Let’s put their asses on Medicaid.
Let THEM go to the clinic, checking their
hair for lice, sitting among us Great Unwashed
waiting for their number to be called.”
Of all the reasons this season is prime time
for a sublime health care revolution, it’s the
evolution of the Tea Party, all soggy from
dunking once too often in a trough of crap.
I have had seven different types of insurance
in 55 years, my dears. Medicaid, Cadillac plan,
“from hunger” catastrophic, none at all…
Tell Congress they can’t drop the ball.
If corrupt morons on the Supreme Court
can tort their way through the insurance overhaul,
I think we can see our way clear to badgering
the Idol Rich Senate for Health Care for All.
And if you don’t want to give up what you have,
just remember – when they came to foreclose
on your neighbors over hospital bills and you
did not offer them hospitality, what does that say
about your values, your sense of responsibility?
You really want kids living in cars, the mentally ill
behind bars, because the fashion is to ration?
Search your heart… Commit to compassion.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday is up to the letter “Y.” This will also appear in the left column (not the Poetry Pantry) of Poets United, my well-care checkup clinic!
Bud is Bummin’
Bud’s buttressing his building,
same as yesterday and forever.
Paper cup kept jingling:
The classic ask.
I’m boy I’m embarrassingly I’m
so damned late,
I buzz by him without blinking;
must rumble through
the crowded sidewalk,
Almost to the conference door.
My heart screams;
conscience bubbles through my bloodstream,
hits my medulla “obligata.”
Turning tail to the nearest café.
Two large coffees, a cup of milk,
a banana (potassium) and bran muffin.
Sugar, yellow, pink, blue packets.
I don’t take sweet, but he might.
Back at the bastion,
Bud’s taking a break, huddled under a blanket
I offer him the tray;
he looks up and mumbles, “What’s this?”
“All for you, sir, except the second cup.”
I blush, grab my portion, bend to share a hug.
I run off.
Blessings abound.
Angels around.
Dependence is a two-way street.
If we want to connect with them,
let’s show respect for them
Let’s interrupt our previously scheduled lives
for a moment of grace.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Dependence, Kept, Rumble; for dverse Open Mic Night; and as always, for Poets United, my poetic hotspot!
Sharp Little Pencil 