Loose lips

Mr. Morsi may, I suppose, be elected and suppressed. The Brotherhood will grow more powerful. Mr. Tsipras may surprisingly loose by a hair. Either way, his people will eat less. Mr. Obama will ride a ‘suddenly’ booming economy to victory, and continue dismantling the Constitution. He can pay off his business buddies with the new war in Iran. A man who betrays his principles for re-election won’t regain them after re-election. The wealthy have the power and the glory forever. Amen.

Alongside the road in Nicaragua the young women walk towards me and don’t avert their eyes. The women in my country learn from infancy to pretend they don’t see me, or even sneer and make ugly faces to hide what they think I want. The women by the side of the road know they have nothing I want; nothing I can’t take if I do. You would never imagine what has been done with their souls and their bodies already. They are an indictment. They stare until I pass.

But I can imagine, because I, too, have lived in the dirt. I, too, was a child with nothing; desperately hungry, despised by the people on the street, bewildered that I deserved to be beaten and pissed upon. Not even my wife understands this. A person can’t know what they haven’t experienced; they can only think about it. Our feeling for the big-eyed starving kids in the magazines is the same we have for the puppy limping in the street – meaningless emotion.

See me and you know what broken looks like.

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