Archive
07/16/08 - (2)
Wile E. Coyote Tonight, a resounding silence abounds across the land. America is holding its panic-attack breath, Hoping for the best of times while anticipating the worst —
The disemboweling of its inflation-plagued, oil-crippled economy, The sacking of its Treasury and Federal Reserve, The racking of its greed-mongerering Wall Street gurus,
Who, for the past decade, at least, Have shamelessly stolen from the nation's piggy banks, cookie jars, And wished, on stars, lucky pennies, that nobody would see them
Going through their avaricious, exploitive, nefarious felonies, At the flagrant expense of hardworking John and Jane Does, The blue-collar, American Dream–believing jerkwaters and rubes
Hoping to be spared martyrdom on a cross of black gold, Crucifixion for a cause that seems to have lost its luster, Sold out to leaner, hungrier, less-excess-dead-weighted nations,
Who haven't yet been infected by labor-union beguilements, Lulled into Big Brother's promises of pleasure Guaranteed to every Q. Public, at the end of his/her proletarian life,
Those reassuring panaceas of the capitalist enterprise — Full retirement benefits, including funeral expenses, And Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid.
Tonight, America's is the grotesquely unavailing silence Of Wile E. Coyote, As he overruns the mesa, in pursuit of the taunting Road Runner,
Then hovers, hellishly, momentarily, Before plummeting a thousand feet, to his splattering, As the fates give him a twenty-one-gun salute, up his snoot.
07/16/08 - (2)
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