So. Detroit has filed for bankruptcy.
Deeper and deeper in its gathered regret
The city cannot bear its crushing debt;
Things fall apart; Blue Models cannot stand;
Smith’s virtuous Fist is loosed upon the land,
The bankruptcy is loosed, and everywhere
The solvency of proud Detroit is drowned;
The Left lacked all competence, while the Right
Was kept away, per standard policy.
Surely some intervention is at hand;
Surely the Administration is at hand.
The Administration! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Dreams of my Father
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of Hawaii
A boy with careless spirit and the age of a man,
A gaze blank and indifferent as a mask,
Is savoring slow puffs, while all about him
Lurk shadows of soft-bigoted sycophants.
The image fades again; but now I know
That Motown’s century of reckless deeds
Have spawned a nightmare that walks, with bill in hand,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Michigan to be born?
Moe Lane (crosspost)