Unspoken Truths Poem by David Welch

Towers stabbing tall into the sky,
Broadway plays that catch the eye,
finance's center, here it lies…
Manhattan is a city that works
(but it's filled with loud, self-important jerks) .

Sun-bathed coast and silver screens,
glitz and glamour and action scenes,
the city of lights, the city of dreams…
You should come by and stay a while
(especially if a rapist or pedophile) .

Maple-tappers working in spring,
hordes of tourists gone skiing,
small, quaint towns, so relaxing…
Green Mountains, pleasant to the eye
(this is where old hippies go to die) .

Coal mines fueling this great land,
hollows, moonshine, and deer stands,
a place where work makes the man…
Where you can still find an old homestead,
(just ignore the opioids and meth heads) .

Monuments tall, for heroes past,
Potomac waters, well-manicured grass,
elected folk of wisdom and class…
working hard for freedom and good,
(they'd put us all in camps, if they could) .