The Hungry Ghost
The president is on TV just now waving the flag,
explaining how we must be brave and send our young boys
to die
in order to protect this flag, and he
points to it, there on the wall
a big red white and blue flag.
He’s got a tiny one pinned to his lapel
and in the audience hundreds of people cheer
and wave little cloth flags back at him.
Oh my, after 10,000 years of this, after
generation upon generation upon generation
of young boys marching to their deaths, how
can we not know that the flags are always changing
with the arbitrary lines they draw on a map?
After 10,000 years of bloody death,
after 100 million dead in the twentieth century,
the bloodiest century in the history of mankind,
how can we not yet see that standing behind every flag
is the Hungry Ghost
starving for our juicy emotions, our fear and hatred,
mouth watering for the next course of young boys and
we wave the flag, we
cheer and scream and weep and pull our hair and
we send them rank and file by the millions
marching straight into the oven to be roasted
while the Hungry Ghost stands by exhorting us,
in one hand a sharpened boning knife,
in the other
a flag.
redhawk
No comments:
Post a Comment