The Book of Ezra - Il Miglior Fabbro
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your holiday in Italy
Has besmirched your legacy.
Your Cantos, they plead,
But don’t exonerate,
Not as far as I can see.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Did praise from Hemingway
Whet your narcissistic thirst?
As an ex-pat abroad,
Did you assimilate
What enlightened nations curse?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You made Il Duce smile.
There’s evidence that proves it.
Was your Republic of Utopia
Bi-polar by design?
Or was it simply hubris?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You strain my intellect
With your imagery of life,
And turn my conscience
Hard on itself
With a keen, dissecting knife.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your lyrics sing to me,
But your politics offend.
You peddled fascist ideology.
If you want my true opinion,
I refuse to condescend.
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