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Medal of Dishonor

“If you see something, say something” –anti-terrorism poster

Medals of Dishonor, sculpture by David Smith

 

I see anxiety

masquerading anger,

hatred masking fear.

I see lock her up means

Lynch the bitch. I see

stop and search means

them not us. I see

black lives matter

like litter matters.

I see freedom of speech

means speak up only

if you agree. Patriotism means

salute and sing along.

Don’t think too much

about the words

Indivisible under God

In the land of the free.

 

  I say, You deserve a medal.

 

Make America Great Again

Let’s take America back

to the straight-

jacket of the 1950s--

when women knew 

their place

and cops let

domestic abuse

slide, divorcees 

were outcast

and the church

lied for priests

who brought altar boys

to their knees

while teachers and coaches

were given

a good talking to

or a year off

if they took advantage

of their boys and girls,

and gay kids

were routinely

beaten by macho guys

and mental illness

was cause for shame,

the retarded, objects

of ridicule.

The good old days

when no women 

or Jews were allowed,

Blacks were happier

with their own kind

and America could do 

no wrong.

 

 

Trump Country

 

We are the true victims

of oppression, PC

run amok. It’s our lives

that don’t matter.

We’ve been left out

of the recovery,

laid off,

replaced

by illegal

immigrants,

abandoned

by our own party,

dissed by our wives,

scorned by our kids

and the lame-stream media

hates us.

We’ve kowtowed

to blacks

Hispanics, women,

homos, lesbos, trannys.

It would be funny

if anyone could take a joke,

but you can’t even open your mouth

without being censored.

You can’t even order a cup of coffee;

they don’t understand

a word of English.

That’s why

We want to blow it all up

and take them out.

So thank God

we finally have a voice

who’ll say what he feels,

and send them back

to their own country,

build a wall

and they’ll foot the bill.

He’ll ban the Muslims

till we figure out

what’s really going on…

We’ll make the Chinese pay

for free trade,

and stand up to women

Because we’re the minority now.

 

Drones

 

You can barely hear the dial-tone

that hums through the wires of your brain.

It is the call of drones, buzzing as they fly

on their secret missions

known only to those

who man the remote controls,

striking the keys to send

unmanned Hawks, Ravens and Shadows

deep into Pakistan.

We have absolute confidence

in our sources. Our President

is in command, making

the hard decisions. Later

he falls asleep to the monotone hum

in the back of his mind,

while Pakistanis, herding sheep,

look up, straining to hear

the unnerving buzz

of mechanical birds.

 

Ed Meek's  most recent book of poems is Spy Pond and his book of stories, Luck, will be published in the spring of 2017