A Poem for an
Infant, Age 72
Cancer-skin crybaby
throws
his toys from
an oval playpen and
wounds millions in
the process.
Caretakers look the
other way,
encouraging
devolution for
xenophobic means.
Their ways will
never work, just as
every deity has
proclaims yet
they push.
Can we
push back or
are we
doomed to fail in
the name of
castrated freedom?
We’ll never
know unless we
awaken from this
fascist slumber and
scream so loud that
the stars on the
flag fall and are
replaced
with hearts.
--Robert J.W.
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