A sip of brandy at 11 am,
a black tie,
a “No bloody way you’ll come into my life again,”
an envelope including the word “neo-formative,”
a choice you already know it won’t be popular.
Serious,
Some moments are, and don’t give me those “namastes,”
Because I’ll send them wrapped back to the gods,
and don’t give a damn if I go to hell,
or get locked up.
You can’t play with everything.
As you can’t cut down ancient trees,
or pollute the water in the oceans,
or ruin a country to live in luxury somewhere else.
Serious,
that those shoes you are wearing were made
out of someone’s health.
That you make fun of illiterate people
who are condemned to clean your filth.
Serious,
I close my fist and don’t shake your hand
because I don’t like you
and I don’t have to hide it.
Blanca Haddad, Venezuela
The Social Poet 