by Shyla Shehan
The last we saw our king his head was deep
in the crotch of some alabaster city gleam
tweeting love notes to his adoring fans
twisting our once beloved patriot dream.
While our halcyon skies are shrinking
spilling grief across our amber plains
he gathers up his Proud Boys
and hides his capital gains.
Our borders littered with families separated
huddled masses he has reviled
and presses portentous his own agendas
his unwrought thoughts run wild.
America. America! You are still beautiful
and mine. There is space inside my heart—
a hope for you, again, to shine.
As our thoroughfares of freedom are stretched
thin across from all cities to the sea.
America, I beg of you now!
Please show your grace his leave.
Shyla Shehan is an analytical Virgo who has spent the majority of her life in the midwest. She holds an MFA in Writing from the University of Nebraska and lives in Omaha, Nebraska with her husband, children, and four wily cats. Shyla spends most days tending to a healthy household and is pleased with her role as Managing Editor for The Good Life Review.
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