Two fingers pinch the bridge nose
With an affectation bordering on lament
And the screen flickers, such horror
These people with bombs on avenues
And shallow opinions about
Magnets on vehicles
Flags and fuckers and fuck you, Jesus
Does it ever end?
It’s a cold air out this window perhaps
But this pot simmers
You get a bunch of crazy people
Out the window to the world
All jumping and insane, manic and lost
Where the fuck, an army, a democracy,
With an older woman saying
I think we should give up some freedoms
To be safe, don’t you… ?
(and not a cartoon or a stereotype)
Cocked head sideways regards the words on the page
Oblong and dizzy, because one can’t afford health care
Men five years my junior dying in giant metal vehicles
At religious whim of peril
With an improvised explosive device with
Powder bordering on cement
Knocking perspective and wheels eschew
Throwing us all from the truck
Down the avenue beyond the women and children
Who watch, gleefully, raising their hands as they’re blown to bits,
Singing in perfect harmony:
Freedom is on the march!