“Bloodshot”
by John Burroughs

Indian summer sun squints, bloodshot like the
Wide wounded eyes of my cynical Seneca ancestors.
On and on
nd anon,
An endless queue of unrelenting conquistadors,
Lusting for booty
or bust,
Defile our trust and defame the name of God
in the name of God.
Opportunity does not knock for trusting tribesmen,
be they from Arizona
Africa
the Amazon
or Akron.
Riding roughshod over every allegedly endless empire
Including America the beautifully dutiful,
The cursed hearse of history leads a parade of pathetic
and unsympathetic plotters,
plodders,
priests and presidents,
Electable eels who feel their forked tongues
and dung
Make them agents of distinction
instead of
extinction.
Sweetly sighing lullabies of liberty
and expediency,
These leaders open
Their bomb bays
as they pray
First for the unconditional surrender of their enemies
And last,
if at all,
For the bloodshot souls
Of the soon to be charred
Children of Hiroshima
Hanoi
Belfast
Belgrade
Baghdad
Bethlehem and
Coming soon
to a theatre
of war
near
you.

Water Works (2012 Recycle Karma Press),