What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. ~ War, Edwin Starr
I confess to be an avid
collector, growing, of the myriad
faults in the parroted party line.
I’d plan my argument
against their ideology, just
a typical rebellious teen.
Now I grope towards
emotional maturity, that mysterious
platform hidden by my fog
like Bugs Bunny’s a-ha moment:
of course you realize this means war.
Letting go of resistance, not fighting
the warriors at their own
game — and yes, bombing and killing,
starving and stealing
is a rich man’s power play.
Nodding a fond farewell
to peacing out
which so appealed in my childhood
songs, the bombers turning
into butterflies above our nation.
How is it we ignore the years
of slavery, the genocide of First
Nations, the unprecedented imprisonment
of the poor? How do we pretend
the violence paid by our taxes
is necessary? We’re urged
to choose a side, when both parties
barely glance up from their grisly
feasting, mouths dripping with
the blood from our hearts,
as they dimly notice
the foundations shaking
when we understand the pain
of the bit and the reins
and their heels digging in.