My Thought Crime

Political anger lives inside me,

I tore up news photos for many years,

First ones of Nixon and his GOP,

I ripped out Osama with nails and shears.   


I quit.  But after Jan. 6, the urge came back,

This time it took a more sinister form,

Trump I wanted to shoot, to kill, to whack,

With one golf course shot I'd become the storm.


My fever broke when Routh was arrested,

The dream that I had he almost made real,

I've searched for worth in what I detested,

I'd exalted thought.  Could I, like Trump, feel?



Must our reason be rooted in passion?

If so, should we write in a new fashion?






































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