by Paul Smith
 |
| Cartoon by Nick Anderson. |
O beautiful for spacious skies
America I speak no lies
Although I wish no harm to none
He who holds his arm back
dies
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
that tread upon the soil that’s blue
a thoroughfare
for arms that ache
while you over there
vacillate
prevaricate
until
real soon
it’s just too late
You who claim our fruited plain
is really red
and complain
and caterwaul
that this hoax is live
and science is dead
woe be to you
in twenty-two
You’re going to those halcyon skies
twice as fast as us guys
your electorate
is shrinking faster
than a speeding myth
count the votes
do the math
your crimson retreats
are no longer alabaster
In twenty twenty two or four
there will be more of us than you
your votes have shrunk
so go get drunk
and raise a toast
two years hence
or maybe four
our purple mountains
will all be blue
sad but true
sad for you
your selfish gain no longer stains
from coast to plain to turquoise coast
Paul Smith is a civil engineer who has worked in the construction racket for many years. He has traveled all over the place and met lots of people. Some have enriched his life. Others made him wish he or they were all dead. He likes writing poetry and fiction. He also likes Newcastle Brown Ale. If you see him, buy him one. His poetry and fiction have been published in Convergence, Packingtown Review, Literary Orphans, TheNewVerse.News, and other lit mags.
