“My country tis of thy people you’re dying.” – Buffy Sainte Marie
Oozing pus and dripping viscera
Paranoid zombies rise from the
Well-deserved graves of history
To terrorize anew any attempt to
Move forward into a peaceful future.
The John Birch Society,
The Knights of the Ku Klux Klan,
Lingering Confederacy revivalists,
A multiplicity of Nazi imitators,
Sporting swastikas like fresh scabs,
All manner of ranting living dead,
Angry, lurching back driven by envy
And fear, leaping onto the open stage
Of national political discourse.
Is there no past madness which is
Not demanding to be recognized as sane?
Not making a bold bid for legitimacy?
They are not many now but they are loud
And there are many more sympathetic,
Waiting for the right moment to
Emerge from the shadows of shame
Into the bright light of privilege.
They wait to seize their place at a table
Which they then intend to turn upside down.
Within its own damaged heart my country
Is becoming a truly frightening place
As the zombies of hatreds past emerge
To tear apart our present and future.