Today, I offer a poem. I wrote poetry a lot when I was a child until the adults told me to consider a more appropriate profession for a woman. They suggested a nurse or a secretary. I thought about being a secretary. For about an hour. Maybe less.
Choose a subject. Write a biography. I chose Boss Tweed. He died in prison. His lungs filled with infection. He drowned in bed. A public servant. A thief in plain sight Overcharging for plumbing. Silencing the outraged with food and books. Millions stolen from public pockets Millions spent for structures and silence. No money for bail, But he kept escaping. He was brilliant. A parable of power and greed That no one cares to read So I chose Boss Tweed. Perhaps to learn How corruptible we are.