Have a Great Sunday, Wherever and Whomever You Choose to Worship

Have a Great Sunday, Wherever and Whomever You Choose to Worship

Amidst the further decline of stability
in the Middle East and the deaths
of so many civilians every day,
Condi plays the piano and Bush poses
with American Idol contestants.
It is all so surreal. America has
become but a caricature of itself.
If there was a time when we all
should be marching through the streets
with arms linked and chanting
for our survival this is it.
Unfortunately, the illegals who cut
our lawns and hand us our burgers
over bright yellow counters
won't do that for us.
Maybe we somehow deserve
this ignoble decline into oblivion.
I pray to the god that gives a shit.
The one that cares as much for Iraqi
and Lebanese civilians as she or he
does for me. I pray with my poetry
and eyes open. I curse those who
perfume the dead. I grieve for who we
once were. I spit in the eye
of the snarling dogs chasing
that bitch in heat called money.
I will not be distracted
by the show and the clowns on TV.
I swear an oath to protect
the Constitution while not
diddling myself through my boxers.
The Constitution is far from just
a goddamed piece of paper.
George Bush is a goddamed
frat boy forever
in the throes of a good drunk.


Randolph Nesbitt

Posted over on Poets Against The War