Who Even Told Her That

Who Even Told Her That We have our priorities. Our lunches. At prissy linen-covered tables. With the best silverware, and steaks cooked exactly right. So do not let that woman in. Tell her I am gone on sabbatical. It is too bad about her child and cancer is awful, but I am busy. And that steak is waiting with warm hot rolls, and real butter. We have our preferences. Guns, ammo, and war machines Bringing in lots of money for constituents who have paid me well. I cannot wave at them at lunch if I filter their profits into something As unpopular with them as cancer research. Maybe we could give a dollar Or two, but who cares that it is the number one killer of children? My children are safe. My grandchildren do not have it. I have lunch Ready, at a table, ready to be served to my waiting belly. Tell that woman to go away. Bringing her child with her is a media trick. I am not caving on this. Seven hundred and ten billion to my fat cats, Zip to cancer research. Why does she even KNOW that none of the Pittance we give is going to find out why cancer is the number one killer of children? Who told her that? You bleeding-heart secretaries ought to keep your mouths shut. My lunch is waiting dhramm it!