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Our Goose Is Cooked
I cannot anymore say “I do not give a hoot!”
When a policeman pulls over my car,
First thing I say is, “Officer, please don’t shoot!”
Now, I am afraid to go--to venture very far
From the security of my very own back yard
I no longer visit my local neighborhood bar
These days we need a personal security guard
To feel safe when we go to the village malls
Guns from all public places should be barred
Once we could handle old-fashioned brawls
But with serial killers and snipers on the loose
I am afraid our backs are pressed to the walls
Discarded social mores have cooked our goose.
Copyright ©
L Milton Hankins
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