that we’d bow to her charge, to her spellbound occasion and her frozen loyalty.
She came at the behest of the old man’s superiors, shaking the waters with her wing.
I have heard of this legend in books from a simpler time, back before the battle,
Before the ice came, after the storm of the century when this land was asleep.
Back when ghosts bumped along the tundra like herds of muskox, and the humans
were timid and easily gunned down by noble hunters with time on their hands.
Ghosts stalking ghosts, wandering pickpockets in a land that never again moved.
Sky-churned rage pushed by the rousing-deep and talons
Of blind eddies crept closer, carrying their god-awful devotion,
Pawing greed and desperation over any miserable wretch in their way,
Screeching “America is here!” and then severing her unfolded appendages,
Splattering their power over everything, warring, hanging, sucking
The very life out of weedier mongrels, slamming their godless love, raping,
Weeping their control and mercy, only to stack our heroes in the sand,
And consume Dear John letters demanding they give more of themselves;
Ordering them to smack evil’s round rump so the good and the righteous
Could remain innocent and the wicked could swill their unjust desserts.
It was a time to churn out flag-wavers and anthem choirs and flyers
With USA emblazoned on the sleeve of an eagle, and the limbless plea
Of soldiers in the wrong war for the wrong reasons with a heroes’ gaze
And a love of country and a hate of the world, spewing blood for ink, ghosts
For paper, and nationalism as lexicon while slumped in Superman’s wheelchair.
Audiences were rapt by the lies forced out of their mouths, dancing reality
Sucked under by the force of the flood and discolored by the blood-filled waters.
The storm of the century, manmade and ugly, smacked its oily lips over child,
Over everyone’s god, over love and honor and bravery and light!
The plummeting eagle was expected to make landfall and pierce the heart,
Tossing down its watery prayers as the people cried out from their sleep,
“Stay, naughty bird, your rape is done!”
© 2008 mrp/tpm