The happenings of these past few weeks have been rolling around in my head. I've come up with two poems, both still raw, but this one seems about done...
Kenosha
Cradle the weapon and sing
a lullaby, my son
The way I taught you when you were young,
before you were able
to read the words bullet and gun.
Sing of great America, my son.
I will take you
Where cities burn and chaos runs.
Put on your hat, I will bring you, come.
See? The man on the corner
Wields a sign.
an anarchist, a terrorist, a crime.
Aim and fire. See
how easily he crumbles and falls, my son.
Aim and fire, see
How easily they crumble and fall, my son
You will be surprised by how they weep, my son.
They crumble and wail at what you have done.
Cradle your weapon and sing, my son
a lullaby, a lullaby,
a goodbye America
as she grieves what we’ve done.
As America mourns her children, my son.
Kenosha
Cradle the weapon and sing
a lullaby, my son
The way I taught you when you were young,
before you were able
to read the words bullet and gun.
Sing of great America, my son.
I will take you
Where cities burn and chaos runs.
Put on your hat, I will bring you, come.
See? The man on the corner
Wields a sign.
an anarchist, a terrorist, a crime.
Aim and fire. See
how easily he crumbles and falls, my son.
Aim and fire, see
How easily they crumble and fall, my son
You will be surprised by how they weep, my son.
They crumble and wail at what you have done.
Cradle your weapon and sing, my son
a lullaby, a lullaby,
a goodbye America
as she grieves what we’ve done.
As America mourns her children, my son.
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