Mount Rushmore Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Mount Rushmore



The faces stare out
chiseled proud and bold
with polished cheeks,
their character defined.
No monument shows
heroes silly, kind or frail.
These giants look down
stoic, cold.
You face the world
resolved to make your day.
You strut and lean in
to intimidate.
When charm won't trick,
you'll then manipulate or bully
to insure you get your way.
But like geologists
who chip then name each strata,
I have tracked your faults and
mapped your self-contempt,
your molten fury,
trapped deep pits of prejudice,
frustration, shame.
Your fierce facade
is just a thick veneer to hide
your guilt and
cowardice and fear.

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