LAND OF THE BROKEN

 

Spring, 2006,

in the year of our Lord

Jesus Christ, King of kings

a Florida woman is arrested.

Her crime? She laid a stillborn child.

Sirens howl. Police cars

arrive in a Vegas of lights—

in America—

home of the broken pillar

home of the broken dick

land of tobacco and corn.

 

Somebody watches from the window

in America—

land of the Quaker in makeup—

 

In America

home of the broken dream

of the miscarried embryo’s $10,000 funeral.

 

In America

grotesque caricatures huddle

under steeples like dunce caps

and burble prayers like frogs.

 

In America

under the dunce cap

they boast they bred like dogs—

two nothing-but-worms intertwining.

Shine the spotlight.

 

In America

under the dunce cap

the rotted corpus remains within—

 

In America

where an Adam—

all mud and ribs—

had his dick broken by an angry wife.

 

In America

under God

sometimes a dick gets busted.

 

In America

an old Quakeress warned,

“If you open your mouth too wide

you’ll never shut it again.”

Shine the dental light—

 

In America

where the victimarchist batters her broken arm

where Walt Whitman sprawled out—naked—

upon the grass

where Jews await the Christ

and scientists the next mutation

where George Washington Carver ground nuts

where lightning struck and shattered a dead                    tree.

 

In America

the Holy Roller says F.R.O.G.

stands for “fully reliant on God.”

His Harley’s bumper sticker bears a cross.

His leather jacket’s button reads,

“Jehovah Jirah, My Provider”

in America

home of seven fattened cows—

hens with tongues—

 

In America

where the Church landed to escape the Church

where the Church persecuted the Church

Anna Cates was born in Brunswick, Maine in 1971 and currently lives in Wilmington, Ohio. She has an M.A. in English and a Ph.D. in Curriculum and Instruction/English. Currently, she teaches college courses over the Internet. Among other things, she enjoys nature, music, and animals, especially dogs.

Dance to Death, Issue V

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.

 

 

where Puritan expelled Quaker

where freedom equals diversity

and diversity equals freedom—

 

In America

where gay couples begged the Quakers to              marry them

and the Quakers replied, “Marriage is between

one man and one women,” as if to say

“No bigamy, please,”

in America

where African equals peanut butter

and Indian equals corn.

 

In America

a fetus is left

in the toilet at the high school prom

and the Preacher says that’s

the worst evil in America

and demonic minions blush

in America

home of the broken dick of a father

who doesn’t look as good as his son.

 

In America

the Baptist Minister’s wife

says she’s lost one.

Call the police!

 

In America

a Quaker wears his collar

loosely like a noose—

 

In America

home of the Wolarys and the Paynes—

 

In America

that formed the anti-unification confederacy

for diversity in a fractured society

where a spiked heel sunk into mud

and a Bibled Fonz burnt rubber

where an angry mob charred bras

and the enemy became

monkey, pig, worm—

the ugly mouth has spoken.

 

In America

home of the broken dream of bathroom patrol

the intolerable weak womb

the empty cowboy hat

the Baptist Minister’s wife

changes her story to “a large bowel              movement.”

 

In America

she leaves the bathroom door wide open.

 

In America

somebody says “Amen.”

Raise the torch light!

 

In America

she’ll never be religious right again.

Their mouths remain wide open—

aghast!

 

In America

land of tobacco and corn

 

In America

home of Quakers

gargoyles,

frogs.