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| The Song of Lieawatha By Tom Kratman |
| 2018-10-20 |
| h/t according_to_hoyt By the banks of the Charles River, Right across the shining gilt dome, On the application job-worth, Near the old prestigious brick yard, Lieawatha, also known as Spreading Bull and Fauxcahontas, Filled her out the little boxes Checked she off the lie, "Cherokee." Never thinking she’d be found out Thinking much of salary bloated Contemplating huge fees speaking Prestige endless, public office. Thought she, "What’s one little white lie; Lesser still one little red one?" In she turned the application. Made she Harvard swoon in virtue "Have we now our red professor! Better still, red not in one way, But in two, with massive virtue, From her ancestors oppressed." Drew she then the massive salary As her students became debt-slaves. Ran she then for public office, With her resume of virtue, And she won but still some noticed That her story didn’t add up. Yet lived she in Massachusetts Where the palatable lie is Infinitely preferable To the truth, hard and unvarnished, Just provided that the students And the professoriate loony Can still feel their wondrous virtue, Signaling it to the whole world. Part the Second Never ended then the questions And the snickers from the knowing. While the President, he pointed, Laughing loudly, too, and sneering At the worse-than-dumb presumption That this white bitch was an Indian. Then had she an idea brilliant; "I shall take a DNA test, Which will prove beyond a shadow That my family’s half-remembered Poorly researched anecdotals Were still true and I am truly Of the blood of Great Sequoyah." Then took she the DNA test And released the answers given To the fawning lefty papers Globe and New York Times and WaPo Whereupon those selfsame papers Wrapped themselves in shrouds of virtue Saying loudly, each and every, That this proved beyond a single Little nagging doubt forever That our professorial injun And our senatorial redskin Was exactly what she had said, And, in truth, a real live Indian. Then the libertarian dummies, Hating Trump beyond all reason Loudly echoed just that feeling Because even like the papers The illiterate motherfuckers Never realized that there is no Possible test that could prove that Anyone in any position Was indeed a fucking injun. Part the Third "Opps," she said, when it was pointed Out, in every nook and crannie, That the test so widely vaunted, Not just failed to prove her truthful, But made her and all the others Look most stupid and dishonest, And the best that she could hope for Was that she might be an Inca. "Oops," said she, again, as soon as She came to the understanding That her highest aspirations Had just disappeared in thin smoke, And she’d given ammunition In the form of sundry jokings To whoever might oppose her From the now to the forever. Worse and worse it now did turn out Or, more truly, was more noticed, That her family’s sole connection To the people called "Cherokee" Was her multi-great grandfather who, In manner most SS-like Herded men, women, and children Of the people called, "Cherokee," To the concentration camp whence They were marched to Oklahoma On the rout of which they perished Men and women, little children, In huge numbers all uncounted, Buried by the trail unmarked With their spirits long now fuming That this white bitch with no linkage Except that of crime and murder Should still profit from their suff’ring. Then the spirits laughed, "Hahaha." |
| Posted by:g(r)omgoru |
| #6 Just "trying on the old trochaic" sneaky-like. |
| Posted by: Vernal McGurque9653 2018-10-20 22:17 |
| #5 Ok. Who cloned Zenobia? |
| Posted by: Pancho Ebbose4102 2018-10-20 18:18 |
| #4 Ghosts of Scollay, show your mettle: Brattle, Cornhill, steaming kettle! Sears Block Starbucks? Stop, I'm weepy. Halloween should be this creepy. Pickled freaks of ancient Boston... Might as well be f-ckin' Austin. City Hall? Of course, a steakhouse. Corner Bookstore? Oh, you kidder! Better quit it. What, me bitter? |
| Posted by: Jomolet Angease6126 2018-10-20 14:17 |
| #3 Back to Cambridge and the curving. View the Plaza, vast, unnerving, Where the past, found undeserving, Blasted bare, not worth preserving, Fills the air, urbane, observing, Scorning Collins' concrete teepee. |
| Posted by: Helmuth, Speaking for Thruth9707 2018-10-20 14:10 |
| #2 Cross the street that came from Cambridge, Beat your weary feet up Beacon Where the Vilna Shul is creakin'. Hear a moldy oldster speakin' On his need for frequent leakin': He's the Brahmins' last Mohican! |
| Posted by: Caesar Uleasing4469 2018-10-20 14:03 |
| #1 From the shores of Charles's river, From the bridge that's named for... meeee!, Pass Mass General and the prison, Lunch and Library and Otis, Old West Church, not quite to Bowdoin. |
| Posted by: Enver Poodle4038 2018-10-20 13:59 |