Disney World

Let my people free,

From this horrid nothing-scape,

The continuum of shotguns,

Firing shit,

Into the heavens.

Four score and twenty years from now,

Will the cantankerous cries of the weak,

Outgrabe the unwieldy asses of the privileged?

No one can tell.

No one, that is,

But the spring peepers-

Who rest peacefully,

Quietly,

On my shoulder blades.