" Do you hear them starving in your sleep..? "

Dear Mr Bush,

Where exactly were you as a seven year old girl was being raped and getting her throat cut in the awful dark recesses of the Convention Center...?

I wonder did you sleep on fine french linens that night? Were you at the White House, eating from fine antique china? Or were you still at your ranch that has virtually no cattle?

As the mothers that lost their babies from heat exauhstion, realized their babies had died right beside them, in their arms, did your ears itch with thier unheard but certain screams? What about the young adults who died of thirst, were you drinking a fine tomato juice from crystal goblets, or perhaps a soda your maid brought to you...?

What were you doing at that moment Mr. Bush...?

When young girls started floating by with bullet holes in them, and old men turned up bludgeoned to death, were you standing in a well tended courtyard..? Or maybe you were taking pictures and sitting with Trent Lott while he cried into a three-hundred dollar hankerchief..? Or perhaps both. I supose if you could own a courtyard it seems natural you may become overwhelmed with emotion there eventually.

Mr. Bush when women started handing thier babies to strangers, begging them to save them, did you think about Jenna and Barbara..? Did you call them and let them pour their hearts out to you? Maybe you thought of how far your own children were from you, and your chest ached with longing..? With need?

As the water rose and alligators started infiltrating low attics did you feel a shudder in a fine leather chair? Did any sharp sensation make you weep?

When the 5 year old was gang raped to death in that hell hole, could you see it from the window of Air Force One? What about the people with you? Did you point your web cam out that same window so Cheney could view, via the net, from Wyoming...?

Where were you EXACTLY Mr. Bush...?

Where were your much decorated Secretaries..?

When the images of the Super Dome and Convention Center kept going day, after day, after day, did you find a point where you sought out Laura to comfort you and perhaps hold your perfectly manicured hand...? Did you ever reach a point where you vomited, as I did, though I have no well heeled servants to pick me up and clean the mess.

When that man shot his sister for a bag of ice, did you regret ALL that FEMA money that had been 'mismanaged' at your brothers hurricane parties..? Or did you send some of it as a private contribution to the Red Cross. Or maybe Pat Robertsons 'Relief Fund.' Did your accountant do the appropriate tax deductions on it as somberly as the rest of your daily transactions?

When my Gov. Blanco tried to tell you two days before the hurricane she needed help, did you use a real gold pen to try and wrest control from her...? Silver maybe...? Was it the same pen you used to cut the money to our levees by 80%...? Does that pen come with a fine matching set on your highly polished desk..?

As our native sons, our finest, the Louisiana National Guard, desperately tried to find updates about the damage from Iraq, did you use one of those high tech sattalite phones to call them and calm thier jitters..? Did you smile as they told you how valiantly they had held off enemies that threaten all your friends assets...? Did your own father flash through your mind when you realized one of those boys could have been exactly like the one who took your place in Vietnam..?

I see you on tv offering Salvation Army goods to the women from nowhere, oh, and the fundraising speeches, and as I write this I wonder about where you are and what you are doing. I wonder are you shivering somewhere with the painful dread of upwards of 40,000 dead. Did the smell of human waste fill your well educated mind..?

Do the faces of those begging for food haunt you in the halls of your lush surroundings? Do you hear them starving in your sleep..? Does the presence of your body guards bring you as little comfort as FEMA provides to the survivors..?

It shouldn't, and I will tell you why...

The Constitution of the United States of America.

It is the document that lays out the reasons and proceedures that will result in your arrest, a fair trial, followed by a decent hanging.

We can even use a fine velvet rope.

But until then Mr. Bush... YOU ARE FIRED!