Colonel America Calling


The dove sat carefully on Liberty

lining her nest with down.

A few feathers fell free

a few loose feathers

fluttering down 

to feather 

the nests

below. 


She cooed sweetly

but her new chick 

said ‘coo-ark’

mimicking her,

then ‘quark,

then ’yawp’

as it grew

stronger,

she saw


her cuckooed dove

hatchling

was a mocking bird,

calling

in New-Speak

straining

to be understood,

straining 

for more space, 

more gas, 

more gold, 

more


like a colonising colonel, 

whose eagle’s eye

preys south

then north.

West and east 

will follow next.


But he’s balanced precariously,

puffing out his dovey chest

so more feathers fall,

he stamps his feet,

his call now sharp,

dummy dumped,

diaper dirty

stinking

for change

as the vultures

gather, 

chests bared

brooding

ready

waiting 

for him to fall,


knowing

that while the colonel still 

pushes buttons and counts his dough

Elvis left the building a long time ago

and soon the cuckoo will call in their time.



https://dsmag.in/2026/03/27/lynn-whites-three-poems/

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