Drums Across the Mohawk
Drums across the Mohawk,
brass bands on the wind,
Sousa drifting into soused patriots ears,
“Cheers” they say, glasses raised:
flag on the wall, Star-Spangled
or the starry saltire,
Trump-pet voluntary vileness
the only thing uniting
the North and South
Beers along the bar top
shots in close order,
parade-waiting for parched Sausolito boys
toys – no- guns at fingers’ reach.
Death in the air, drink summoned
or simply stupid.
in both coast newspapers
or live on air
Knives out on the Mile End,
watch out for acid
bottles under the long-sleeved hoodie tops,
drops enough for gang-boys pride.
Hate on the streets, fool-conjured
foghorn re-broadcast liars
in your on-line pap-feed,
just as honest
as this is.