Home of the Brave

 HOME OF THE BRAVE

Dear Mitt,

I’d like you to tell me

when

you became so afraid

of the world

you actually made

where mortgaged lives

polluted skies

endangered dreams

denial schemes, all slipped

half buried beneath your bottom line.

My country tis of thee,

sweet land of voter ID

land of wall street greed

purveyors of endless need

more ostrich than eagle 

head down, furiously

kicking sand into the gears of change

facing facts with fatuous fictions

Beamed right

at that quivering center 

where old fears and rusty saws

are sharpened

for deeper cuts  

Not well-funded banks

and unfunded wars

but right at those oh so

soft and tempting organs

where the most vulnerable among us live.

Land of the hedge fund’s pride 

land where one-percenters reside

on every gated mountainside,

let freedom

from regulation ring

and rally round that highly leveraged flag boys

which 47% of us don’t deserve to own

even

one thread,

one stripe,

one star.

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