Short-Winded and Sharp-Tongued

I've been writing a long time. My father sent me the scrap of paper above which I'll add to a little box full of poems and stories that I wrote long, long ago.

As the dreary news trickles in, my tongue smarts and the words to an old American song drift inside my brain.

Oh give me a home

As I wrote on a previous post, my arms aren't long enough to reach, always, with compassion toward everyone. Mea culpa. 

As my friend said in a text this morning, Trump is the whetstone where we sharpen our tongues. 

where the buffalo roam,

The picture of our President Resident Lech with six other white men standing round watching him sign legislation that tells women what we can't do with our BODIES

where the deer and the antelope play

Our President Resident Lech has given the go-ahead to fuck with sacred land and clean water, and we are being asked to reach out with compassion.

where seldom is heard a discouraging word

I don't think softened words are going to do much of anything.

and the skies are not cloudy all day.

The Day After International Peace Day Contains Profanity

It's the day after International Peace Day, so let's rant.

I get at least three emails every single morning from various marketers, peddling products and services as diverse as stand-up urinals for women and books catering to those who believe in manifesting your destiny even as you're swept away in a flash flood in a keyhole cavern. Today's email, though, got my proverbial panties in a wad (I hate the words "panties" and "wad," but some self-flagellation is in order for my upcoming rudeness). This email was promoting a singer named The Reverend Promise Dixon, the 10th of 14 children from Oklahoma. He has a new song, Killers, that addresses the recent Planned Parenthood conspiracy, and the marketer hopes I'll listen to and tell ya'll about it. Normally, I'd delete this kind of thing immediately after seeing that it's evangelical Christian (how in Buddha's name do these people get my email?), but I kept reading until I reached the final paragraph where I promptly burst out laughing (as opposed to combusting which I'm sure the Revered Dixon would have preferred). Here's the last paragraph of the email:

When people talk about Planned Parenthood, it is most often discussed from the perspective of a woman.  Rev. Dixon says that his song sheds light on a different perspective; “This is a unique story, because you always hear about the woman's perspective, but never from the perspective of a man, who actually paid for the abortions.”  It is Rev. Dixon’s hope that through his song, people will be awakened out of complacency and into action.

Here's the action I'm awakened into, Rev. Dixon. Go f*#k yourself.


Anywho.


Speaking of music, Oliver was walking around the house this morning humming bars of "Ebony and Ivory," although he was using different words. I made the mistake of correcting and telling him that the singers were Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney and that it was about racial harmony. Oliver rolled his eyes and said in his most incredulous fourteen-year-old tone, Have you ever even heard of that song, Mom?