Poem #87

Overwhelmed at a factory of fascists…

O, dawn of change,
what a world of abhorrence
the victorious made,
when opening each their mouth

a bias blabbing against
where different people are born,
privilege pronouncing
the labor lost to immigrants
just a fragment from their injustice rants,
I saw in each amalgamation of laborer
a reflection of Adolf Hitler.
Only in Mein Kampf, have I read words similar.
Imagine a factory of fascists
who would work on a wall
who would build a bomb.
Every word was Darwinian
of the “master” race.

I sat in silence. I sat in shame.
For I sat a loser who had lost more than
an election game.

A day off of labor I drove to the grocery
with my lady and she tells me
yet we are overwhelmed, we still have to be.

I write these final words with grief.
Hail to the chief.


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