a fly landed on my screen
and I reflexively tried to click on it
but it flew away, up and over the horizon
to newly discovered lands, resplendent
verdant places labeled with exotic
names cribbed from the antediluvian
aboriginals, and over time, saddled
with strange new meanings

The Fourth of You Lie

Jolly England stretches, reaches
plucks herself some jolly peaches
in America, her new-found land.

The Colonies, ungrateful leeches
organize with sword and speeches
sever their dependence, ain’t it grand?

Now the colony beseeches
with military might, “to each his
own,” except the grabs that we have planned.

You that’s got the world’s peaches
we will take, as finance teaches:
you don’t like it you can go pound sand.