by David L Williams
While sitting on the back step all looked fine,
but that rope ladder dangling down the trunk
reminded me how freedom’s in decline,
assaulted by minorities of bunk.
Angered, along these lines, as I sat out,
I shook my head and struggled to make sense
of turncoat madness, but my turn to shout,
madly across the lawn and through the fence
fell short of any Capitol to breach,
and any insurrection I might mount
would hardly climb a ladder with the reach
to trip up emissaries of false doubt.
The challenge, tangled in their ropes of lies:
Unseat them calmly, before freedom dies.
David L Williams is recently retired from 34 years teaching high school English in Lincoln, Nebraska, his primary residence since he went to college there in the 80s. His poetry has mostly been written since May of 2021, and he has only recently started trying to publish. For inspiration, he enjoys sitting on the two steps leading to their patio and looking out back.
