Sing a song of Trumpence
Half-baked in their minds.
Four and Twenty Fascists,
Up their behinds.
When the song grew louder
The press began to sing,
“Swindles, lies, dark hateful screeds
Disguise a criminal ring!”

I loathe July Fourth.
Self-congratulatory
Froth. Jingoism
Masquerades, South/North.
Bombs in the night; peace takes flight.
Don’t give me air shows;
Show me that you understand
Humanity, woes.
I loathe Fourth July,
Which simply lights up our lies.