OPINION
Or: “Make America Gated Again”
Not like that mother once of huddled souls,
Whose torch was hope — not border patrols.
She called the tired, the poor, the scared —
Now she’s frisked them all, then said a prayer.
“Send me your masses,” she’d once intone —
But now it’s “papers, please,” in monotone.
They cheer for ICE with trembling rage,
And cosplay Christ while building cage.
These patriots in flag-print socks
Scream “freedom!” loud, then padlock docks.
They quote the Bible, twist it, too —
As if Christ said, “Love only you.”
They shout, “We’re full!” — but somehow not
For guns, or greed, or hate they’ve bought.
They march with torches, tiki-bright,
Declaring, “God is white tonight!”
And Lady Liberty? She’s had enough.
She rolls her eyes — she’s seen this stuff.
Her torch burns low, her patience thin,
She mutters, “I can’t believe; this again?”
“We all came here by wind or wave,
Then stole a land, and called it brave.
Now those descendants, loud and dense,
Claim they own freedom — in past tense.”
She sighs, adjusts her rusted crown,
Looks down at all this circus-town.
“Give me your tired,” she mocks and groans,
“Unless they’re brown — then send in the drones.”
— Constance Truthe 10-5-25
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