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Dieu et Mon Droit

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing; - S.F. Smith

what exactly did the Yanks rebel

for the price of tea the use of forks

why they stabbed us in the neck of course

Braddock's awful death meant squat to folks

who from upping sticks to cross the pond

staked their pensions on the other side

don't the history hucksters have it so

Woolfe dislodged Montcalm by gall not guts

more redcoats were killed by Injuns than

Minutemen George had no right to tax

States who never voted 'gainst the French

as if Louis would have charged 'em less

aye your rebel's cause is ever just

righteousness has always triumphed rich

picking how they turned a blessèd cheek

sang God Save The King in other words

pertinence

must we listen only while that hot

head whose ticker tape of lies & half

truths regales & moves a ship of fools

better the Yanks we've heard nattering

far across the stark Atlantic night

where the strains of Melville's hammock strung

bowsprit wide on copperplated ark

trawl indifferent seas for poetry

'longside Whitman's craft & Longfellow's

Ginsberg Kerouac all have remarked

somewhat deeply the star spangled main

stripes unfurling from a rising moon

tongued in silver their Pacific lines

light a flarepath to the shores of Mars

deus ex machina

what if Job appointed someone whose

god was like that sleuth's on every night

rides a mean old bike the meddlesome

priest known as Brown

lets him choose whose sins are innocent

plus he's working for the bloody crown

not above breaking laws on the sly

nobody knows

audience excepted country town

constant scene of murders everything

goes though Brown's unfazed like where he's from

ain't no birds sing

btw if anyone should call

one of these nights say I'm fishing off

Hinkley Point for tadpoles what's the score

quite had enough

Britain seeks a hero at this time

batgirl hatcheck wallah no one's fussed

tortured soul or crook whose only crime

claims to be right

Never Say You Weren't!