For George W. Bush
I don’t blame you,
I blame myself.
I blame myself for these past eight years, because while you were trampling on our nation,
and the nations of others, I, and the rest of America sat here and did not do shit.
Some may have made signs, a few wrote letters, one dude made a couple films, another made straight to DVD treatises nobody understood, we all sat around the dinner table and complained, we cursed you, we called for your head, as we inhaled our meals and headed back off to work.
If we were lucky enough to have work.
We’d sit over beers and talk of how unfair your wars have been, how evil your reign has been, how far down our nation has slunk. We’d get riled up amongst ourselves and vow to never let such a thing happen again.
Then we went to bed, woke up the next day, punched in, and tuned out.
We didn’t burn you in effigy outside the Fox news office. We let them exist in peace too. We rarely tuned our radios to the left of the dial, in fact we barely turned them on at all. We relied on the images that you fed the TV, to feed our minds and burn our souls.
Like the skin of so many men, women and children has burned, under your reign of terror.
Mothers have lost children and children have lost mothers and fathers have disappeared forever without a trace, in the name of your war.
Those planes didn’t hit the Twin Towers because of me, they hit because of you. Still I recoiled in fear and stupidly let you handle it. We should have handled it. We the people, in order to find a more perfect union, must have stopped looking.
I mean, we definitely stopped looking. And like good little worker bees, we let the boss man do his job, even if we knew you were taking advantage and working to destroy us all. We LET you do this. We allowed you to do this. And here we sit.
Having hope. A hope for a new America. A hope for a new day where you, like your father, retire to the baseball field, the basketball court, the polo grounds, where ever you people go to find solace. To have fun. To enjoy the rest of your days.
To smell the roses.
As opposed to the fires that will still burn on for years after you walk away from the winners circle. The fires that We the People in Order to Form a More Perfect Union, will still be fighting.
While you sit, already forgotten what you have done. You see no problem with it. Burn the brown skin black with nary a care the world over. Imprison an idea. Tell a man who is fighting for his freedom that he is a terrorist. Tell a man whose land has been stolen that he is the problem. Tell a man, tell all of us, that it’s all for our own good, and yeah, we’ll believe it.
We can say that we didn’t, but really we did.
But now you are gone. Gone to the suburbs of Dallas with so many other empty souls, guarded by their moneys, protected by their hate filled delusions that allow for nary a glimpse into the realities of the humans on whose backs you stand.
Good riddance Mr. Bush. I won’t say I loved you, because I never did.