S.A. Blair

Mr. Writer

People rushing everywhere,
On the highways, in my head,
All the things the papers said
Are all coming true

Say something so many times
It will make the news headlines
Prophecy created
And fulfilled by you

Oh, Mr. Writer, I blame you.

You say the war in going to come
Then you tell them how it's done
Tell them how to make the bomb
Then that's what they do

Tell them where they can hide
Inform them of how many died
Then tell them law is on their side
And how to sue.

Oh, Mr. Writer, I blame you.

Say you're speaking for the people
Then you coat your words with treacle
Burn the Mosque, the Church the steeple
Run out the Jew

Make your god the column inch
Turn the knife until we flinch
Then send out a mob to lynch
And enjoy the view

Oh, Mr. Writer, I blame you

Justify celebrity
Panic the economy
Bring the high street to its knees
Now we're in a stew

Petitioning for everything
You can make those jailbirds sing
Or call them guilty on a whim
Without a clue

Oh, Mr. Writer, I blame you.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 25, 2009

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