America the Patient
America, the patient, has been in the fights.
She looks real bad, and needs last rites.
Dr. Jesus sitting through the long dark nights.
America strangled by many fearsome plights.
In her sin, America moves on.
She looks like a jig-saw puzzle with a dozen pieces gone!
Like worms her sins she spawns.
Her righteousness like goats chewing their neighbors’ lawns.
In the hands of self-serving opportunists, she, twisted like chess pawns.
Hell’s night dawns.
The grave yawns.
The very ones who could save America from the brink?
They by millions are ground up in hospital sinks!
And, poor America, in her coffin, stinks.
Her armor in tatters, wide gashes, no longer small chinks.
Paltry colors of purple-green instead of healthy reddish pinks.
America sees her sins, and merely winks.
To her funeral, many will come, but only if lunch is provided, methinks!