Everyone Sees Through You, Uncle Sam

He cannot read. That's just as well for you,
As he holds a child who's starving, as he
Starves himself amid the ruble of his home.
His wife is dead. The jets come south,
Their pilots pampered princelings from
The oil-slickened monarchy which you
Have chosen to support. Her death, his death,
The child's death, are meaningless.
It's hydrocarbons that command your loyalty.
No amount of human blood can clean your
Fingers, hypocrite. One brace of suited
Toadies, smiling, agitates for “human rights.”
Another, just across the border, helps
To load the bombs.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 121 times
Written on 2019-10-05 at 01:48

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