The media and disasters -- "The Oily Dog Blues" -- a song written today

http://www.oilydog.org -- BEWARE: it is a sad picture albeit the dog is still on his feet, in the picture, and no one (as usual) knows exactly what happened to him afterwards except, we do know this: the journalists who took the photo walked away.)  So I am putting this song out on the web in various places.

the water's going down today
there's workers going by
and journalists are out there too
to profit while they spy
the work is cleaning oil
which has leaked and made a bog
and up to them comes begging
just a little oily dog

the working guys they give him pats
he was hoping for much more
he needs water, and he needs to get
this oil off his fur
the working men have work to do
the boss is there to mind
perhaps they think there's hope because
the journalists are behind

the working guys can't take him up
he'd like to join their pack
he needs water, and he needs to get
this poison off his back
the working men can't stand around
their time's not theirs today
perhaps they think there's hope because
there's journalists on the way

the journalists know a sorry sight -
the proof is not profound:
to take a touching picture
journalists laid down on the ground
shooting upwards for a portrait
of his paws and pleading face
with the blue sky in the background
several angles just in case

let's go back several weeks from here
back to some similar scenes -
here's a lady living on a bridge
in downtown New Orleans
living out there in the open
with her red dog by her side
she refused the no-pets transport
and, so far, she has not died

she refused the no-pets horror
now the camera's in her face
crouching with her dog there on the bridge
journalists' paychecks from her case
she refused the no-pets idiocy and
for this nightmare to end,
she just needs a ride from New Orleans
but not without her friend

the journalists moved along and
what came next we cannot know
if journalists had helped these two
they'd have certainly told us so
so here we are, another street
this time the dog's unowned:
he's made money for the journalists, now
they're leaving him alone

yes here we are, another street
the dog hopes they'll be kind
he's made money for the journalists, now
they're leaving him behind
they don't want oil on their shirts
nor on their camera straps
they only want the tear-jerk photos
falling in their laps

now when the waters rise all kinds
of people float their way -
and some float in, and some ride off,
and some are there for pay
and when the waters sink again
there's a simple rule of thumb
to tell between the workers,
and the poison and the scum

for every picture taken
there's a Taker standing by:
with a mind not on survival and
with clothes and cameras dry
with food and transportation
and hired security
and a journalist's delusions of
journalistic purity

with the journalists' delusions
about what they need not do
with the journalists' delusions that
they're doing this For You
with the journalists' delusions
of professional states of Grace
and journalistic commentary while oil
and tears run down your face

Copyright 2005 by Doug Gross