We’ve reached tumultuous endings,
we have,
these could be your sons;
this could be your life.

Aren’t we suppose to be
cradled in the womb of warmth
free of the blinding white nooses
hanging from old man America’s
iconic claws?

Brighter than the irritated horizon on the morning
of a nuclear holocaust to be caught up in this
shit storm of mayhem and disheveled prosecutors,

I sure do pity Louisiana.

Makes you just shake your head now, doesn't it?

Nicely stated observation here, EB.

A well-written poem, with effective lines, with an end I like. I will keep it for a pick... Later.
Vasile

glad you wrote this----needs saying, lots and lots of saying----poem is sharp and tight----no nits...

michael

ps----appreciate your open, honest compassion, as expressed in that last line...

the blinding white nooses are iconic in themselves

Thank you