So, where ‘ya at?

By George Lundgren, Becketwood Member 

Saints go marchin’
Thieves go robbin’
Birds keep singin’ it
While most of us keep wingin’ it.

Fruit falls down
Kids grow up
Branches stick out
And crybabies pout.

Boats float
Pancakes flop
Young girls faint
And men…. well…. angels… they ain’t.

Sweet potatoes grow
TVs and radios don’t know
The dribble of words
They drop like turds

Can twist some minds
To believe, “It’s the other kind.”
“It’s easy to see,
It’s surely not me!”

Evil persists
While some insist
It’s a new
Part of the stew.

Or, that it’s getting worse
And ready to burst
Their bubbles of pretending
And easy happy endings

Not to mention their golden years
And worlds of no tears
Their pleasures of privilege
Their denial of pillage.

When the Saints go marchin’
And the rest are sobbin’
I want to be in that number
That always remembers

Evil hides for certain
Hind the age-old curtain
Called, “It’s not me.
I’m in the right can’t you see!”

When Saints go marchin’
Past those just standin’
Past the pillars and posts
Of those protesting the most

Marchin' over rocky ground
Where no rest's found
Where laurels can't be counted on
Or profits depended on.

Just keep your mind clear and open
As you keep your faith and hope in
Yourself and those you know
To make the best of this, the only show.

George Lundgren
4/14/2021
After an ACLU meeting, the George Floyd trial, and the book “Caste”

Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash