Sad Winner Poem by Charles Monroe

Sad Beginnings
Lost my winnings
Food stamps provided
By the U.S. Government.
They've made me a gangster
And humanitarian
They handed me Rifles
And jugs full of liquor
And said, 'only the dark ones! '
I shot my employer
And hired a lawyer
Made me a warrior
No longer a voyeur
For Tom and his Sawyer
The Mark of the Twain
The Huckle and Berry
The saw and the chain.
Informal insignia
I'm dreaming of India
Here in Los Angeles
With sirens and cigarette butts
My cross-bred dogs howl
Like true sopranos
And I enjoy the truths
That we willingly share.
For God is abundant
Of every republic
And multi complected
Our Gods are but One.
They all are the Higher
That humans inspire
The one we shall be like
The day we retire.
It hurts from the grinning
I'm tired of winning.
The made me the poor
I come out with more
They make me a slave
I mastered the trade
They made me the prey
I hunted the game
They made me minority
I rose to authority
They made me a resident
I chose the next president
They made me a Victim
i fathered their children
They made me a martyr
I mated their daughter
They made me a pion
I lated their eon
They made me a sinner
I made ME a winner.
P.X
3.21.14