Fast Food, Prime-Time TV, and Preservation of the American Way

It's like some sort of children's game. The labels shift.
The bodies come home under flags. They're “fallen
Heroes.” Where they perished, they're “crusaders.”
Those who did the killing must be “terrorists,”
And those who died did so somehow defending
“Freedom.” Those back on the battlefields, who've
Seen their neighbors and their children slaughtered;
“Sorry, our mistake,” will come at night. They'll get
Revenge, and, round and round the shooting goes.
The labels change. The well-fed grubs inside their
Suburbs shake their heads. What can be done?
They have to fight, those ragged kids from crummy
Schools, to save our country, preserve freedom,
Even as those they've been sent to fight say they, too,
Want their freedom. Grubs know best. That's been
Established. Ragged kids and terrorists don't understand
How things must be. The bodies under flags keep
Coming. Solemn words keep being said, and labels
Mutate day by day, but think of what's been gained.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2019-08-15 at 02:36

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