They Are Gathering
The gulls are gathering,
they mob, they scream,
they vie with each other
to lunge upon the unseen.
America, those first bold steps
of your eventful arrival,
your first imprints trod
upon this great land
are beginning to surface
here on the beach -
but now there is a whiff,
a stench of much heaped decades
of betrayal and corruption.
Those inaugural shoeprints
of imperial venture and high hope
are surfacing to be seen;
like dead fish they appear
upon the tainted shingle and sand.
There is a stink America,
the rapacious gulls are gathering
they swoop upon the long lamented,
feed upon the ghostly whispers
of what could
and should have been.
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