Towers stabbing tall into the sky,
Broadway plays that catch the eye,
finance’s center, here it lies…
Manhattan is a city that works
(but it’s filled with loud, self-important jerks).
Sun-bathed coast and silver screens,
glitz and glamour and action scenes,
the city of lights, the city of dreams…
You should come by and stay a while
(especially if a rapist or pedophile).
Maple-tappers working in spring,
hordes of tourists gone skiing,
small, quaint towns, so relaxing…
Green Mountains, pleasant to the eye
(this is where old hippies go to die).
Coal mines fueling this great land,
hollows, moonshine, and deer stands,
a place where work makes the man…
Where you can still find an old homestead,
(just ignore the opioids and meth heads).
Monuments tall, for heroes past,
Potomac waters, well-manicured grass,
elected folk of wisdom and class…
working hard for freedom and good,
(they’d put us all in camps, if they could).
-
Author:
David Welch (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2026 17:04
- Comment from author about the poem: Check out my books on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B008RP0672
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 2

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