WICKED HEADLESS DANCERS

Those of us
who, being sons and nephews
of most honorable countrymen,
a hundred times
denied their roots
before and since
the crowing of the cocks.
Those of us
who learned from wolves
the shady
stunts
of howl and ambush
and who to acquired cruelties
affixed
perverse refinements
quarried
from the mines of sorrow.
And those of us
who shared (and share)
their bed
and board
with frigid shaggy beasts, destroyers
of our country's image, and who lied or kept silent
at the moment of truth, you
—just you, wicked headless dancers—
one day will be worth less than a broken bottle
tossed
to the bottom of a crater of the Moon.