The young mother at the corner of the street,
the effeminate boy hiding in his closet,
the gentle man holding the Quran to his chest—
He says he saved them all.

He slaved in blistering heat and freezing cold,
his fingers cracking.

Without even asking for the slightest award,

just like old times, the ancient codes of honor.

He turned the world against the woman
until she had no choice but to scrap her dreams
and take responsibility,
to choose life, the little angel in her womb;
he beat the rebellious spirit out of the boy
until he was straightened out, a true man again,
and he burned the man’s Quran, ostracized him
until the evils were cast away,
faith and humanity restored.

He says he is the cleanser, he who
shoots before he speaks
and sends back criminals, the do-nothings,
worthless ignorants that amble about with
picket fences and union signs,
leeches in the system.

He says he is protecting
his lady’s dignity, her image,
billowing red, white, and blue silk,
seamless striped gown,
the stars on her crown.

He says many things,
but all are a tragic delusion. 
And there are thousands of him
among us.