Poem of William Hermanns

           Comedia Americana
 
Are we not a Christian nation?
And if the oil is now on ration,
in God is our oil.

We have our smiles and chewing gum.
We love this life, the life to come -
our faith no one dare spoil.

Our faith, three words: bucks, icebox, fun;
and one more word: we love the gun
when there are communists.

Our way of life no one may touch.
To die means little, to love means much.
Thank God, the Pill exists!

Christ did not speak for prohibition.
And since we have now television,
Christ is our superstar.

We are at heart a pioneer people.
We love tradition, church with steeple,
and cocktails at a bar.

In war the church is on our side,
her altar waves our flag - o pride.
Come youth, march, you are blessed!

If atom bombs drop from the air,
and no one finds you, God is there.
Our prayers give you rest.

War? Peace? We all go to our graves.
Thank God, we have now microwaves -
God and our arms: Let's pray!

And if no luster of love makes smooth
our homes, and we remain uncouth,
our pioneer fists must stay.

We conquered once with knife in belt,
which red and black skinned people felt.
Our church prayed for their souls.

Let's pride in our democracy.
Our haves and have-nots: All are free!
But who's at the controls?

The home, a catapult for greed -
the child's will grows like an ugly weed.
Here's where the curse begins.

The mother draws from grocery wells
cheap buckets filled with cancer cells -
but greed and grief are twins.

For youth, behavior has no fence,
for grey hair is no reverence,
and family love is prey

of alienation. Ruggedness,
the pioneers' heir, is pitiless:
Cambodia, My Lai!

And Mother Earth, too, eats the Pill:
What lives in earth we have to kill.
Away you parasite!

Big corporations tell the earth
what be her crops and what their worth.
Small farmhouse, dim your light!

Alas, my friends, seems to me
on our American comedy
the curtain falls.

Has our full house then lost its grace?
It seems a prophet closed the place,
and no more curtain calls.

No soldiers march, no knife, no gun,
no slaves, no uncrowned kings.
The apocalypse waits in the wings.
The cosmic law has fun.
 
                                  William Hermanns    [P292]