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May 3, 2024
May Day (poem)
By John Hawkins
It's a couple of days late but here's to My Day and the celbration of our labors to be free. Gesundheit.
::::::::
Mayday Mayday a berg has hulled our ship of state
and mighty titanic America's taking
on water on her maiden voyage. Yeah, it's late.
It's been late for 200 years. We're not making
it to the next port, no e pluribus unum
is guiding this ship through the wind and tidal waves
of our fate: we've grown too comfortable, too numb,
and our freedom has paved the way for lampoon slaves.
.
Where'd we go wrong? It's not hard to fathom. Blind pride.
Forgetting the first human born was a murderer;
then losing track of his exiled bestial hide,
only to return and take evil furtherer.
.
I sing workers of the world who built cathedrals
and watch their work fall to synthetic cerebrals.
John Kendall Hawkins is an American ex-pat freelance journalist and poet currently residing in Oceania.