Hail to Old Glory


Old glory rang hallelujahs e’er since the first European settler
set foot upon presumably virgin territory ripe, and up for grabs
despite the scattered pockets of sundry indigenous peoples,
whose naïveté and innocent earned them the moniker “noble savages”
faux docile chieftains bamboozled, hoodwinked,
and upended viciously via “Indian giver”
sans aggressive, destructive and massive plunder,
when one after another supposed promise scuttled per convenience
to increasing number of immigrants blatantly, blithely and bluntly
snatching the prime real estate to expand the nascent government
whence inception to behold, denote, and foster honorable indemnity
planting the seeds of white lily
emblemized viz Yiddish word L’Chiam
though Jewish less predominant than northern Europeans
planting the old world pendant as the flapping capstone
yielding to hegemony
indoctrinating subsequent generations of explorers
which sons and daughter of the American Revolution
augmented pride via crafting figurines, idols, liberating outlier,
and severing ties to Fatherland birthing near miscarriages,
yet by the luck of the draw (those foreigners stuck to their guns),
which proved fatal to the impact
upon indigenous rightful “noble savages”
generally innocent and naïve to the ambushing crusades eradicating
delicate, holistic, and luxurious warp and woof totems toppled
complex edifice glorified illustrious kaput mighty oiled quotidian
skins undeservedly wracked, yanked,
plus banished, cursed, emasculated
gilded individuals kept marginalized, ostracized, and quashed
ordained ex post factor per total mortal kombat
place names bestirred gauzy history sans indigenous peoples
while the inquisitors, intruders, and invaders celebrated
inception to behold, denote,
and longingly foster honorable joie de vivre liberty
at the cost of manifold slain natives,
which Delaware destroyers wrought each victory
with threaded fabricated icons glorifying defeat of “red men”
sans symbolic gamut sewn by weavers and bobbers
immortalized by iconic stitched byproduct writ plain,
whence initially crafted
by one artisan in particular Betsy Ross,
who threaded colonial entity gratuitously
Handmaiden earned said personality
a niche within the complex edifice
galvanizing imperial kickstarter manwich
ousting quintessential salient
tribes – undermined, vanquished, 
and wrenched sacred spirits trundled
gallimaufry remnants of nomads
unwittingly practicing pseudo primogeniture
asper every last standing well muscled, stone faced,
slaughtered brethren constituting quiescent regal sorority
memorialized as another feather in the cap of  a Yankee
increasing stolen terrain dishonoring every truce to gainsay
an additional star and/or stripe
exemplifying exploits with pride and prejudice
devoid of sense and sensibility.




This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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