"I am not worried about the very poor"

Mitt Romney 

back to the Super 8 Minit Mart

at five am. As I leave the motel

walk across the parking lot

the air is cold and clean

bird cries fill the air

in this one-horse

Southern town. The pimps

and drug dealers have packed

up and left the scene

I walk across to the Super 8

Minit Mart to buy a cup

of java.  Inside, there is an old lady

at the cash register looking drained

and her body guard, a tough looking

white man, with a hard face and eyes

that could skewer you in a second 

I try my South Carolina nod on him

but he does not respond

Outside, the birds are crying

and another invisible train

blasts through town

Back in the room

Linda is sleeping and I fire up

the computer to write this poem

I can't get Mitt Romney's words

out of my mind: "I am not worried

about the very poor"

Really, Governor?

I am worried about

 all of us...America