Republican Erotica

On His Paper Pillow



Fires rage beneath his lids, smoke of billowing red

And white

With souls purged, cleansed

By his self-appointed ministry

The screams of thousands evaporate into the blue

Vanquished by righteous indignation

He smiles against his paper pillow

Buries his conscience deep, deep

Within its soft, green American weave

He smiles and rolls toward his wife

She of the milk-fed exterior and

Careful poise

Lies open-eyed as he puts his hand

Over her heart

As the screams of thousands

Millions

Echo, spin, thrash

Against impenetrable walls of gold





--L. Lynn Young