Valerie Plame, Valerie Plame
The very fact that we all know your name
is a crime.
So, who’s doing time?
a pop carnevale.
The greedy get famous.
The poor rot in jail.
Dazzling glitter of star light
is doing its job:
distract and divide while
they rape, kill and rob.
Is that a pimple on my face?
Oh, I’m such a big disgrace!
I can’t keep it all together as I should.
The only explanation’s I’m no good.
I ask too much. I need too much.
I never learned to mind my p’s and q’s.
I didn’t toe the line and pay my dues.
Chance of viable career connection
cut to ooze beyond my puny reach,
What am I even saying?
If upright people hear, surely
despair’s a treasonous crime.
And, unlike those Whitehouse lackeys
I may well end in a cell hapless, maligned.