The world consists of bumpkins and hicks.
Some have iPhones, some just have sticks.
Some bust up statues from 50 B.C.
Some lynch black men from yonder beech tree.
Some wear grass skirts and eat bowls of petal.
Others wear leather and dance heavy metal.
Some move mountains to get certain shoes,
Others think troubles all come from the Jews.
A touch of world, the grace of perspective,
Largely does lack in the human collective.
When we yoked men to the harness of global
We forgot to re-make them broader and noble.
Take that stock broker hard at the game,
And African farmer of green plantain.
Jack bores you rotten with e-tech and trend,
Mengala knows everything blue ants portend.
But ask the first gent to find Cameroon,
All he can tell you is "west of the moon?"
This Ivy League grad with his sweet M.B.A.,
Which serves him at best to count up his pay.
Or take the sports writer hot on his beat,
Looking for scoops to report and compete,
With all of the others dying to tell,
Who'll be next coach at Tex' A and L?
But query his views on our Fourth Amend,
So much the Supremes do twist and offend:
"What's the trouble? My sources are cool:
"A def back, a tight end, the dean of law school."
Let's ask Talib grunts in one of those Stans,
Why blow up lives like Al's and Dan's?
"They changed our laws and droned our town,
"Who are these bastards to kick us around?"
Now give those G.I.s the right of rebuttle:
"Osama bin Laden -- he started this muddle.
"He planned Nine-Eleven as you served him tea."
The grunts only squint and ask them, "Who's he?"
And each and every, though far or near,
Asked of their countries, will tell you quite clear:
"Like mine, no sir, they're ain't nothin' like."
For we cling to our tribes, as tire to bike.
It's not for nothin' that pol'tics are local.
And woe to the rep who opines to a yokel,
That maybe our interest includes many others',
As sinkin' or swimin' we'll all do as brothers.
That rep won't defeat the shyster who says,
"Not us, we're exception (and vote me for prez)."
What a great soaring phrase that makes for the hicks,
Who love a good ad and make all the wrong picks.