Just another anonymous male face in the crowd
as special as a dandelion going to seed.
They simmer between shooting, knapping
resentment to a razors edge of action.
This is not the age where they are recognized
and their value is falling, falling fast, to place
they are no longer feared.
So they bury America one gun at a time,
one box of ammo, one bump-stock
one silencer, one pound of explosive
at a time, carnage for every brown
face in their neighborhoods, the television,
talking too loud at the bus stop, for every
women, who turns away or tunes them
out with headphones.
The President knows the enemy as do his
back slapping cabinet, the god-fearing senators,
the keepers of the American dream,
that great white city on the hill
now threatened by the mire, the socialist,
the bleeding heart, the poverty pimp
the welfare Queen. He knows their faces
has seen them on the twenty-four hour
news, hard brown faces, uppity bitches
dragging the bright city toward
the swamp.
So now they must be known, feared
the great WASP gods, layers of the foundation,
they must gain back the capital, the summit,
return the grinning white faces to the lynching
their festive mood under that human piñata,
an America that made sense, as pretty
as a postcard.
Isaac Timm is a graduate of Utah State University; he holds Bachelors Degrees in History and English Creative Writing. He lives in Logan, Utah with his wife Aaron. His poetry is inspired by the landscape of his childhood, the Western Desert of Utah, its distances and characters. His poems most recently appeared in The Helicon Anthology: A Ten Year Celebration of Featured Readers.