The carousel turns.  I can watch it from here,
Moving painfuly slowly.  I'll go back to ride
It in time, and be bored.  From it, Washington
Passes.  There are no signs of movement.
The nation's dark heart, radiating malevolence,
Steadily beats to its odious dogmas, nooses
Still hanging from all of its trees.  Children
Go hungry as billionaires eat, and it seems
A bit hotter, even to people who sit in their
Cars to be given their lattes, but none of them
Thinks to go inside to wait.  A war's on each
Corner, waged and/or financed by those
On the carousel.  They see but one, which
They blame on the poor, cornered beast
They provoked.  The carousel creaks.  It's
Ancient and breaking.  Its squabbling riders
Are stupid and doomed.  I'll be pushed back
Aboard after I've returned home, to be,
Somehow, both outraged and bored.