Dear Mr. President,
Tonight I watch kids bum rush out of the club. Girls are screaming down the street. Chili shouts for me to get inside.
"It's getting hot," he says.
I stick out a bit longer. I watch people jumping out the windows of the club. A hundred people or so running down the block. Then it starts. Pops. Screams. People are running faster now. I look at one of the door guys.
He grabs me by the collar: "Get your ass inside!"
I watch them pull in the potted plants, the velvet rope, even the mat outside the door.
My heart leaps out of my chest. It runs down the block. It screams like a cannon. A thunderous great thump. Loud enough to numb the pain. Loud enough to calm the dead.
Dear Mr. President,
Last week a kid got carjacked outside my apartment.
"You're probably not used to this," my neighbor tells me. "This is all probably new to you."
"Yeah," I say. "I'm just glad they didn't pull a shotgun on me."
"Gang wars," he shrugs. "It's a lot better now."
Atomic bomb. A thunderous great thump. Loud enough to hear war in our midst. Loud enough to make fire.
Dear Mr. President,
Yesterday I go to the Sabe. The Christian is indoors. He won't go outside.
"I don't like those helicopters," he says. "I feel like they're after me."
I watch my heart leap out of my chest. It speaks about mercy. It presses helicopters to the ground. It burns an atomic riot. My fist in the air. Loud enough to calm the dead. Loud enough to hear war in our midst. Loud enough for your thoughts to shudder. Loud enough for a miracle.
Dear Mr. President,
I can't keep this city safe on my own.
The Desert Rose
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7 comments:
Pirooz, great post. Scary place that us of a. I hope you find yr heart again, sad if someone else picked it up and rode it down to mexico.
Pirooz yours is a wonderful voice I'll always love to come home to.
much love.
Wonderful? Yes, you could look at it that way, but I think that rather than full of wonder, this post has definite energy in one direction. I like where it's going...keep it up!
By the way, I appreciate your kind words on my blog.
p- lovely.
i got the book finally. will be posting a little review soon...... hooray.
s.
dear mr. president,
happy birthday
love,
mm
And a Happy Thanksgiving. A happy super duper Thanksgiving. Thanks so much for being my friend. Travel down the road and up again. Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant-- do do do -- and if I had a party, invited everyone we knew -- you would see the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would be--
THANK YOU FOR BEING A FRIEND!
yay eat some grub. give me a ring anytime.
J--Is your heart in Mexico? Mine is thumping right here. It's got two words for you: Lap Dance. Now the states aren't scary anymore. Here is another that takes the cake: Family. Now it's the safest place on the planet.
Thank you for being part of my family. My home is always welcome to you. So is my heart.
S--My art is political even when it doesn't use the words "Dear Mr. President." It could be "Dear Sean" or "Dear God" or "Dear Pirooz." Each possibility cries out revolution. Each possibility can melt injustice as easily as you melt me. Each day we live is another day we can melt each other.
J--Yes, this post exposes a timely weakness. I am also curious how readily citizens are ready to hear advice for Presidents, before they are ready to hear advice for themselves.
I could have written "Dear Brad and Angelina." People love tabloids. They are the bread and butter of supermarkets.
This series may take on many forms. It is a book of possibilities. I have no idea where it will go. But the moment I replace "Dear Mr. President" for "Mini-Me" or "Dr. Phil", feel free to re-introduce "Mr. President" if that platform is the most tasty.
In fact, I plan to read these poems at venues at Los Angeles, replacing "Dear Mr. President" for the most popular figure in my life at the moment.
Today this post would begin "Dear Jeanie."
S--Rock the review. In fact anyone who has purchased the book please review it. I want to share it with many more people.
M--Thank you for the birthday wishes. I will blow a candle out for you.
S--Dacheaux you rock!
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