In the air, flags stutter
Green over white and green
Skin tone of a country that once was.
*
Time ambling in a nudist beach
Erase footprints of all
Who have sat on the blighted Rock.
*
Three scores kiss a dark cloud
With drooping eyelids
That shed terror and tears.
*
Numb fingers share lollipops of blames
Each one to the other
While we squawk in pain
About heroes made of clay.
*
They preen their plumes,
We pick the dumps,
For a living.
*
It is well,
Better days are ahead.
Wishes of drunken zealots
Conjuring God
To rework
The land pronounced good
Seven times seven times.
*
Mind not what is before you now
On the 23rd year
The guileful pipers will be here
And you shall swirl
From the pot, charmed
To prophesy
How the river will flow
Up the mountain
To comfort us.
*
But it will be
Just another squall
In our squalid life.
