The Leftist and Rightist Dam.

My name is Josie,
I’m eighteen and poor.
I am
- black
- white
- spanish
- muslim
I speak  in metaphors.
Hear me roar.
See me jump ropes
for food.
Will work
for inspiration
to fight for myself.

My name is Josie,
I’m twenty-three and poor.
I am
- unemployed
- uninspired
- uncooperative.
I write in broken tongues.
Watch me go and run.
Slowly undone
from years of meandering
through the streets.
Like a twig in a river.
That broken piece
of the dam
that rebelled and
just
went
with it.

My name is George,
I’m over thirty-five and white.
That makes me
- qualified
- rich
- powerful.
I have speech writers
with real problems
that I don’t face.
I could juggle
giants on my spoon
with silver lining.
I am the storm
that feeds the river.
Rain drops that pursue
perpetuation of
the economic system.

My name is Promise,
I am told by people.
People of
- power
- wealth
- ambition.
I am a hollow shell.
I am the shell
surrounding the twig.
I am all the twig knows.
A beautiful case
with flare
and pizzazz.
Still empty, though,
empty as the wind.
Empty as the wind
caused by the storm.
Fed to keep
the dam standing.

My name is Society.
I am the dam.
Filled with twigs,
and hollow shells.
My weight bears
enormously
on the river.
It cannot sustain
on hollow shells.
As empty as
the thoughts of
embracing twigs.
One day, I
will
fall
beneath my own weight.
Destroyed from the empty shell
of Promise.