Band-Aid on the Cancer


I step out of the plane

Baggage on my right hand

A bag of toys on the other.

One foot touches the concrete.

The hard surface onto the soft soles of my feet.

Five stories up: I see a billboard of Amerikan beauty

Endorsed, imposed, and enforced                                                                      

Traffic comes, emitting the smog of progress.

The scent hits my face and rushes up my nose.

Projected upon my mental walls were the pictures I ignored the most

                                                          And it read:

                                        "Make More, Sell More, Buy More." 


I didn't know how to speak American then

                                                     But it translated:

                  "In this world, the rich live on the lap of luxury built upon the

                                              dead bodies of the poor. "


A whip of fresh corporate air

Industrial care

Mother Nature stripped bare

Gangbanged by big businesses

Her lush fields became exploited mistresses

Chopped up and blended fetuses

Sucked out of the ground

Injected into nuclear reactors

Then buried and nowhere to be found

Except on the land of her natural protectors

The indigenous: forced into boxes by the Master

Their bones snapped, their wings clipped

From their bodies

Chained down to a bare metal cage

Cooped up like livestock

Like lambs to the slaughter

Forced to sign meaningless treaties

He pryed their mouths open

And given a sip of capitalist hemlock

They propped up casinos

Like another band-aid on the cancer

Like another meal given to the prisoner

Like another humanitarian project

To make bodies healthy for genocide.


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