The day breaks in Burma.

They say it’s 20 but it’s more like 100.
The dead are thrown into rivers.
The living wait.
But at 135 mph we are too slow to run.
So we do with what we can.
But it’s not fast enough or enough.
But I think we think slow.
Get it?
And as the morning breaks, we sleep sound never knowing the chaos that prevails on the east side.
But Lord! How we must have it in our case!
But our case came and we never showed up.
We’re a few years too late.
And if only I could hop on the first flight out of here.
To tune to a television where I’d hear something relevant.
Not to hear explanations of candidates who’ve got more chance for them than I do,
From people whose oppurtunities exceed mine as well.
Oh, how I feel a shame ready to creep up and blanket our well being.
“…but your kids are gonna love it.”