State of Siege

A.D. Winans

McDonald's wrappers

mating with coca cola cans

floating across the rivers of America

Walt Whitman's children forced

to inhale exhaust fumes worse than

a coal miner's lungs

Christ run out of town

for practicing his trade without

a union card

children weaned on Campbell's

chicken noodle soup

not withstanding all those tiny

booger hearts floating in a sea of fat

Late at night I can hear the

cannon fodder of Union soldiers

the sound of Confederate rifle fire

deadening my dulled senses

knowing I can't escape the

hangman's noose stretched out

across the face of America

In the shadow of night

I hear the whimpering

of soft skinned women carrying

silkscreen fans in bone white hands

mothers of the children

I will never know