Monday, July 6, 2020

The Goddamn Cities Burned | Protest Poem

Neighbors talking.
"Fuckin' Mexicans ..."
"Trump's got it right ..."
"He's doing what he was elected to do ..."
"COVID pussies ..."
"I ain't wearin' a mask, no fuckin' way ..."
"Fuckin' Mexicans ..."
"Shit-for-brains Democrats ..."
"Couldn't give a shit if you're black, brown, or green,
get me my breakfast! ..."
"Hang them sons of bitches ..."
"Nothin' wrong with a little bloodshed ..."
"I like watchin' those cops beat the shit out of them protesters! ..."

How so very far we have fallen.
How very far.

As America's corpse stiffens,
and the MAGAts begin swarming and feasting,
as lawlessness and ruthlessness
become "lawful" and "merciful,"
as the diseased and soulless
celebrate their victory over
morality and decency,
allow me to say here, now,
that it didn't take a genius to see how
it was going to play out.
Allow me to say that to the people--
the survivors--
in the year 2030,
just ten short years from now.

Some of us saw.
Some of us protested.
Some of us rose up.
But America died anyway,
and the MAGAts swarmed,
and they feasted,
and the cities burned.
Trump's Plague killed without differentiation,
and the cities burned.
The pigs got hard for their weapons of war,
how easily their toys bashed skulls,
and the cities burned.
The indifferent privileged sniffed, "It's not my problem!"
and the cities burned.
The stupid and the blunt took power,
and the cities burned.

The goddamn cities burned.