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Sedentary Revolutionary

English: Revolutionary parade, ink drawing by ...

Image via Wikipedia

I’m twisted inside at what’s happening here.

We gave in to the mob though their cause was unclear.

As they’d hoped, we averted our eyes and went on

keeping time to the sound of their merciless drum.

Now we’re over that cliff.  Who knew lemmings could fly?

Oh, they can’t?  I guess that’s why we’re so contrite.

We hit bottom and turned to each other in hope.

Then we realize we’d given them all of our rope

thinking they’d make a noose for themselves.  They hung us

out to dry, on a limb, on a hook, or a truss.

Now here we swing while they dance down below

and they’ve brought us their broken ideals in tow.

“What shall we do?” we all scream in despair

as we dangle here just like a brace of march hares.

Well, we probably should learn to cooperate,

get ourselves off of this hook post-haste.

But we just throw blame.  You blame me.  I blame you.

We keep fighting.  There’s nothing at all we can do.

So the marchers go, pockets full of change.

“Your objections are bigoted” they will explain.

What’s the answer?  We know we should all just consent

to the plan of our forefathers’ first document.

Constitutional law, as you know does not fail

unless the balances tell you the check’s in the mail.

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6 Comments

Posted by on March 11, 2012 in Poetry, Politics

 

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