American Sucker
Oh Thomas! I couldn’t be more sorry.
For it is on We The Patriotic—
The pursuit of conscious liberty
Is now bound to the nonsecular shackles
Of Hell.
A once Holy Wall chiseled, down into
A sinful chasm leading to the land of
Sit-Down, Stand-Up!
Sit-Down, Stand-Up!
As poison Dansburies eat the once
Forbidden fruit—
And the decent starve for what they once swore
Red, White, and Blue.
Oh, Mr. Jefferson—
I am at a loss for what to do.
I believed in things.
Played toy soldiers in a cowboy hat.
Just to be made a modern American sucker.
Oh Thomas! I couldn’t be more sorry.
Scientific inquiry, rugged individualism,
Shamelessly pillaged–
By perm-haired trolls wrapped in red hypocritical swaddling’s.
The bartered gold-plated blanket of the new Mother Superior.
It’s hysterical—
Worthless.
To trick ones only self so cynical,
To double down on leaky brain.
Oh Mr. Edison—
A fleeting consolation!
Knowing you can’t feel reason fading away.
I believed in things.
My clay volcano won first prize at the science fair.
Just to be made a modern American sucker.
Oh Thomas! I couldn’t be more sorry.
I read and heard the wrong things.
Ridiculous fables of immigrants;
Sickly and smiling–
Ascending to a country once clean of Kings.
Silly me—
I’m another faithful slave.
I thought the folklore American.
Verities of your righteousness never reached me,
Noble, self-made, resisting tyranny.
Subsidized not by hate but only the dust of
Your own labor.
No blue-eyed funding, no DEI,
No taxpayer favors.
Oh Mr. Stonewall Jackson—
Did I have you all wrong?
For a legion of black hearts are beating,
To fifes and bugles and field music.
To uplift disparity.
Battalions of clones, discontented and flat-broke
Drafted to protect the corporations—
Like Manassas.
I believed in things.
I cried at 44’s inauguration and named my dog MacArthur.
Just to be made a modern American sucker.
Oh Thomas! I couldn’t be more sorry.
For you are alive to see and feel
The slow-stirring reverberations of the true Great Replacement.
Devoid of help, rendered woke–
Silenced are the Echoes of History.
Out with oversight,
In with algorithms.
Anti-social, apathetic
So many Big Balls begging to bootlick.
The death of “Speak Softly,”
The mutilation of “The Big Stick.”
Oh Mr. Brokaw—
This is a new kind of America First.
I believed in things.
Poppy Joe, Eisenhower, The Greatest Generation.
Just to be made a modern American sucker
Oh Thomas! I couldn’t be more sorry.
We have never spoken;
For I am lost with nowhere to go.
I haven’t prayed since grade school.
I too am full of Doubt.
But unlike you I have no flesh to touch.
Freedom, justice, opportunity, blow away
Over amber waves of digital grain—
Felt–seen but unseen.
Oh how I envy not your faith
But the tangible proof you were afforded.
Oh St. Thomas—
“My Lord and My God”
I am just like you.
So send me a sign that she lives on.
Let me touch the tattered promise,
And afford me the same Grace He afforded you.
For I’ve been an American sucker through good times and strife.
Dark and light—
A pilgrim of promise, adrift in the night.
But let me please lay my hand on her breast—
To feel it rising—a whisper of life,
And know in that tremor, America still fights.
…To believe in things.
