They don't believe in women's rights
Or science data;
Breakfast prayers provide their heights
Of thought, but only for the whites,
They see themselves as southern knights
Who've got the Feds dead in their sights,
The brave Y'all Qaeda.
Our zealots are as bad as theirs–
A long parade of
Idiots who think affairs
Have gone to hell and no one cares
Except for them who think repairs
Require violence and prayers
By brave Y'all Qaeda.
They carry guns so they won't fear
What they're afraid of:
A decent life of peace that's clear
Of weapons since the new frontier
Is multicultural, peer-to-peer,
And not some fucking buccaneer
From brave Y'all Qaeda.
They each remain a willing slave
To their crusade of
Being free to misbehave
With ignorance and hate. But they've
Misunderstood what they should save:
Unarmed civilians are more brave
Than brave Y'all Qaeda.
The courage of civilian life
Is a cascade of
Moments of controlling strife
With which each situation's rife
Without a gun or bomb or knife
So you can love your kids and wife–
Not brave Y'all Qaeda.
They're living in the Yellow Zone
And in the shade of
Terrors we've already shown
Are livable — all people own
The same desires, and most have thrown
Their lot to see their children grown–
Not in Y'all Qaeda.
The time has come, you bloody fools:
Show what you're made of.
Build, instead of blow up, schools,
And teach and live by golden rules
Instead of hoarding gold and jewels.
Put down your weapons, pick up tools,
O brave Y'all Qaeda.
Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, and his work has not appeared in Poetry or The New Yorker.