Despite overtime, double and a half
Boys will be boys, they implore.
They’re terrific, putting their lives on a line
If anti-matter falls up
Can I shit in the square?
The chain link unravels roughly as such:
Political dramatists invoke paranoia begets paramilitary troops astride perimeter fences protect pecuniary interests own propagandist screeds sew pants soiled from
Encode prescriptive remedies
And yet, still
Burned in the square
If you place a cruiser there
It might too.
Of a neck.
An earnest yellow ribbon,
Divides friendlies from faggots.
Are we supporting the troops
When we spread our cheeks?
Send pictures now
So they can better spread democracy.
We have each other’s backs
The Greeks in the agora well knew,
We jerk facing out.
They protect and serve and sometimes
They’re just being boys. Our finest,
Pale and black in their habit, shock of hair shorn.
Shades, like Bono Under a Blood Red Sky™
So children don’t shriek at the empty sockets.
Thrill, at the exercise of discretion.
Wondrous, the measured approach,
Our finest boys, our finest hour.
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