Updated: Jul 8
Back in the day when the U.S. of A.
Was a place that you’d want to be,
My older sister told her youngest brother,
Prior to family tripping out west,
To see Nature at its best—
That a site we’d see along the way
In “one of them there Dakotas”
In the iconically
If not ironically
Named Black Hills
Was in actuality
Not a man made work of art
Blasted into the granite face of a Mount,
But a “natural rock formation”
Presaging “our great nation”’s birth,
Growth, development and preservation.
To which my younger brother responded:
Returning to peruse yet another adventure
Of Archie and his gang.
Those four faces of “our great nation”
Weren’t actually predestined to preside
Over its acts of slavery, rape and genocide
But were chosen to be frozen
By an artist with similar proclivities
To white-wash abuses
On their fellow citizen’s’ liberties,
All having embraced, to varying degrees,
Not embracing non-white lives,
Unless expediency dictated otherwise.
But, in a sense my sister’s conceit of deceit
Is as true as the lies told today
About who we are and should be
By a morbidly obese
White housed autocrat
Unfit not just for his office
But for fitting into anything
Resembling a just society
Where no one one is greater
Than the sum of all our one’s
And where all to service strive.