On Thanksgiving Day

You've raped our Dear Mother,

    degenerate child,

And you've done it for dollars

     with a lie and a smile.
You've poisoned her breath
     and polluted her blood
With your urban erections
     and the scars that you've dug.
In arrogant homage,
     for pillage you pray.
Tell me- who thanks the Red Man
      on Thanksgiving Day?

 

Is it you, mister banker,
     or your well padded son?
Is it you, mister lawyer,
     for some appreciation?

For the Nations you've leveled,
     for your plastic display-
Just who are you thanking
     on Thanksgiving Day?
                                                                                Copyright 2011 W. D. Ahl

This poem was written by my husband, and given to me as a gift. It is the most profound and moving gift I have ever received.
Thank you, baby. I cherish it always.

Have a wonderful day, everyone!

Toodles.



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