Let it Burn : NaPoWriMo #13

A New Constitution

The Constitution of the United States
was not torn in half
in the fists of a teenage girl,
but murdered, step by calculated step
by men with fingernails so clean
they must be teflon-coated
and alien to the earth,
having never known the hardship
and humanity of sweat-work
with bent backs and hands in the dirt.

Kept under glass, the sacrosanct
smothers in its refusal to change,
words must be twisted to fit
into the puzzled spaces
of an ever-evolving world,
used to permit
any invented atrocity
of a cunning and apathetic mind,
so let it die.

The truths have ceased their self-evidence,
when each individual manifests
their own cultish version of the facts,
a kind of sugar-laced poison
passed from pew to pew
and spewed like Christ blood
from an oil well, flooding
every living room floor
until all these smeared footsteps disappear.

The past must burn before it is rewritten,
before the triggering trauma
of genocides forgotten
can be repeated and relived,
every person born with a barrel
pressed against the resistant flesh
of a tender-skinned temple,
the red-ring of foreshadowed bang
just waiting for a prophecy
fulfilled by sound.