Shadow on the Porch By Patrick Henry

A figure sitting on the front porch sets a portrait Of the Deep South vitally as a sweet song At Sundown: Old Rocking Chair to Skylark and Stardust blends the mood. The one jarring note being this one's not sleeping but stone dead. Twelve days since wild Katrina stormed in this house, Mad as a hot girl-friend stood-up or a sultry woman scorned; Victims are left like that where their last moment came, Or down flooded streets as debris battlefields would shame. Troops are scarce here due to calls of foreign wars. Good news is many body bags come home empty now.

Bad news is they're sent for those lost in your Deep South town. The front-line on your door-step faces the class-enemy within. Bush boasted of his brash youth hell-raising down South, And of his Senate pal here who'll rebuild his rich, smashed home, On whose porch George will sit sinking his soft juice: A figure who politically has been really dead for days. When Caesar toppled conspirators rushed to stick the knife in. The Ides of March becomes Bush's twilight September Song. He survived 9-11's crash, wars on terror, but falls by unheeding Danger in the wind which storms in on a woman's name.

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Copyright ©2005  Patrick Henry

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