Mr America,

Why do you shout?

You’re really a loudmouth.

That’s without doubt.

You scream patriotism from deep in your lungs.

At those with diverse traditions, an assortment of tongues,

In the land of the free, you incarcerate those

Less fortunate than most, those too easily disposed

 

Mr America,

Why do you gloat?

As you sail away to damnation,

In your open-topped boat,

Your hand on heart, raising the stars and the stripes

You haven’t quite grasped your obvious plight.

Just like an old maid stranded alone on a shelf,

Mr America, you’re castigating yourself.

 

Mr America,

I couldn’t give a damn.

Whether you die to the music

of a marching brass band.

Or whether an angelic chorus from a gospel choir

lament you in song at your funeral pyre.

But I know when you desist your integrating manner

No more shall we be subjected to the star-spangled banner.

Mr America,

Don’t look for a helping hand.

I’m just waiting around to witness, the demise,

of this nobody's nowhere land.