Ennio Morricone’s dead, a great blow to his fandom.
“The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” should be our current anthem.
Columbus fell in Baltimore, a year after Showalter.
When there’s no Trumpet in the news, these poems start to falter.
We can, of course condemn his constant railings of deceit,
his lumping in with thugs and mugs protesters in the street.
And damn his lying lying lies and flaunting of the law.
His reinterpretation of everything we just saw.
His white flag to the virus, sentencing good souls to death.
His calculated threats to our long freedom’s every breath.
Yes, our spaghetti western’s winding down in tragic fashion,
playing now out in your streets: see fire, guns and smashin’.
The police are not your friends and your friends aren’t who they were.
Entire lives lived in high contrast now are just a blur.
Sometimes words can take two strikes, as if it doesn’t matter.
But it’s the bottom of the ninth. We need a better batter.