Secretary of StateThere's nothing here to laud within these corridors.
A host of subtly crafted statements sits. They're
Waiting to be signed. Each one, as he knows,
Smears the truth. Each one asserts that Uncle Sam,
His mascot and his patron, only wants the best
For all the helpless people he habitually maims
And kills as he pursues the greater good
Of pennilessness freed from lesser villians'
Bondage. Once he's done, the penniless
Will answer to no one but him, and he will
Have his minions come, and they will set up
Factories in which the formerly abused will slave
All day at tables for a pittance sewing underwear.
They'll prove, thereby, that they are worthy of insertion
Into Uncle's grinding gears. They'll generate the profits
That their Uncle's minions cherish. Other evildoers
Gone, the penniless will kneel and pray. The man
Beside the corridor, who signs the papers filled with lies,
Will smile. He has done his job. He'll have somebody
Drive him home for dinner with the wife and kids,
And, in the morning, he will rise to save some others
From some villains, standing proud and upright
In imported underwear.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 61 times
Written on 2018-09-13 at 03:12
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