Eat a twenty-piece
then get some sleep.
United States of America,
where we shoot
hoops first then ask questions later.
Where we heal our wounds
and try to resurrect innocent
victims with thoughts and prayers.
Pulpits with broken stairs,
his gates won’t repair.
“Oh Lord, stop the chaos,”
as we reach into our wallets,
tithing to try to pay him off.
Offering all we’ve got
between a virus and a shot
I hate to question what’s left.

I’m right, there’s not.