American Patriots

Nothing can stop what is coming.

No one knows what is coming.

No one knows when it’s coming.

“Huh?” “What?” “Did you say something?”

“Is dis a Revolution?”

You can’t tell the players without a scorecard.

Plans within plans within plans.

The ordinary shmo doesn’t know,

head turning around, looking this way and that.

The signs are all graffiti,

street Cats singing scat,

policemen directing traffic 

out of order, 

“Would you like fries with that?”

mechanical, with a screw lose,

“Salvation of civilization!” 

he laughs to himself

and goes home to see what’s left.