12 Feb 2016 – Sonnet

They call my people’s land the melting pot,
although it’s more an open hearth for iron
where every foreign particle gets caught
and boils off, leaving only what confirms
the power and the prejudice of WASPS.
These days the WASPS are growing terrified.
Their birthrates down, they now enlist the cops
to purge the voter rolls, keep rarefied
the franchise, keep it firmly in their grasp.
Too late, the huddled masses learned the songs
of freedom they were taught, you’ll never rasp
and file them back to bear the ancient wrongs.
All in it for themselves, shouting alarms,
new “patriots” wave flags and brandish arms.