Elian, the Token Alien

Poor little boy
Mom slipped 'neath the waves
Running away from dad
And rough times
For the Cuban people
Brought about by
His now-protectors/captors

No one cares how many
Little black Haitians are
Sent back everyday
But Elian is
Our token alien
A chit in the affairs of state
And of those who hate
A system which trys
To include everyone

None of those
Who claim to care
About that little boy
Gives a damn
About all the children
In this country
Who have no healthcare
No milk everyday
Or that their parents
Have no right to
A Living Wage job

No on cares about what happens here
To so many other kids
As long as they have the crumbs
Off the tables of the capitalists
They should be happy
Just to be free

Those kids
Poorly clothed against the winter wind
In roach-infested trailer parks
Too poor for the Internet
No hope to go to college
They should all be so happy
They aren't in Cuba

Somehow
A hungry stomach
Aches just as much
Where corporations fly the
Good 'ol Stars and Stripes
Representing their freedom
To not give a damn
About anyone except themselves
And one token little boy
It's a whole lot cheaper to do
Than caring about everyone
Who is already here
Poor little alien
Our token Elian.

Mr. Lehman received a complimentary beverage for his contribution -- Ed.