I used to condemn these outrages so mean:
The Towers, Sandy Hook, and San Bernadeen,
But as the years pass and rife clues come to light,
I find myself passing to suspicion outright.
Coincidence, of course, is 'meh' as old rags,
But dozens together do raise the red flags.
And it's not I believe there are just no bad guys,
But the ones they show us have too-perfect guise:
Naive Chechen brothers and bi-polar teens,
Islamic Macbeths with untoward spleens,
Afghani lone wolves in full i.d. crisis.
Who call 9-1-1 to say they dig ISIS.
The pattern repeats amidst loose ends unbound,
Amazing hard facts that credulity pound,
Like the Sandy Hook guy who first took his life
Then stored the rifle like a careful housewife.
Or good folks carting the hurt back to Pulse,
Or putting them down to walk like adults.
Actors paint scenes as if of squashed ants:
Guts and heads splashed, but no blood on their pants.
No blood at all when you gander around,
No ambulance squawking, no patients ill-found.
Just Anderson Cooper saying it's all true,
Showing his biceps and Reserve Navy crew.
Then money moves in like a fat jungle snake,
Millions for victims, a new start to make.
Federal cash floods departments and districts,
Firemen fund pensions, their plumbing gets fix-its.
Brisk biz there is for all parties involved,
Of any fib told, one and all feel absolved:
"'Cause, yeah, there's been trauma, but what can we say?
The top brass in Wash-town said this is the way
To help keep our nation aware and secure,
Who're we to say they're wrong and demur?
Those guys are experts and know this old world,
And say what they see would keep our hair curled."
So it continues and scarce a soul cheeses,
Glad of the dough that much their lives eases,
And if someone gets real and talks to the press,
The mainstream media will quickly suppress
The proof that all wasn't exactly per se,
But who gives a hoot: old news anyway.