Asleep At The Switch

There were bombs exploding in Iraq Babies turning blue in the immovable quash of rubble A government twisting truths into the most Outrageous kinds of lies The end-game justifying the means But no one would believe The long years of children left behind a hoax Come to fruition, dusty books that no one Reads, impossible to distinguish the text from the Con Old words make sweet bonfires The world spinning in a drunken haze All a blur of light and sound and colorized Image The patient on his etherized table his Hamburger heart pumping beer and blue-eyed Bimbos into the vain artery of his American unconscious O, we may wonder, and O We may die Sleep the good sleep Someday maybe Someone will wake up, alone to find And ask the inevitable question A hundred years too late Why? Why didn’t anyone try to stop The madness? (Previously published in The Hold, Oct. '04)