Don’t Walk Into The Meat Grinder

What will our young ones take, when beckoned off to war? What will it be they clutch to their chests in the dark? Are iPhones allowed in Hell?

“No, it isn’t enough. These must go, too!”

The immigrants are going, rounded up and sent to camp. Maybe they get the option, join the churn or face the burn.

“The jobs, who will do the jobs?”

The young ones are coming home! Draped in stars and stripes, crosses and guns. They’re still out there really, can never come home.