On the border

The suited men have jaws 

                        that snap up & down
      about invaders.

It must be done, they growl,
                   hearts dangling 

      from holsters:

This yanking on necks 

     of newborns

while grinning 

    at the camera 

flashing light on the blight 

       behind white shirts;

                   stink steaming through 

 button holes

as the sunburned beseech
viewers on TV too pleased

       to teach the flip-flop clad

                    a lesson.

Beside the plastic men stand

       beauty queens

      double-breasted & stoney-styled

thinking about getting home,

sun shines on painted gold hair
and sewn back lids

at the fields of families

        tired, kneeling, sweating 

                    at our gates.

With no backward glance, 

         the mighty board          

                  their gulf streams 

and fly toward the stars
          like the gods we allow

                           them to be.