All the big words have grown heavy with the bullshit
Employed by our corporate owners
To keep us in line;
Empty words like patriotism
Help the poor fools
Vote against their own interests
And allow rich masters
To kill their children
In dusty, far away places
In the simple service of money
They will never share;
What could a big word like honor or freedom
Mean to an old hypocrite like Dick Cheney,
Who hustled six deferments
From his bought and paid for little
Wyoming draft board,
But in later days advised death for any American boy
Deciding a third Iraq tour might not be healthy
All the big words from the real Tricky Dick’s
Twisted, fuzzed-up mouth
Are as covered with traitorous bullshit
As is his corroded,
Sin-blackened,
Half-plastic,
Rattlesnake’s heart.
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Dennis P. Wilken is a veteran journalist and former writer for Cincinnati Magazine. Most recently his poetry has appeared in Word Riot, Madswirl and his editorials in Pacific Publishing publications. His last chapbook, Sweat Off the Diamond, was published in 2009. He lives in Seattle, Washington where he is a Contributing Editor at Commonline.
