The Lunatic Fringe, 2015


                                             Where would one locate the lunatic fringe?

                                             On what does this term of opprobrium hinge?

                                             I speak of those people who lack the ability

                                             To do anything for their pure gullibility.

                                             Whatever tale anyone might conceive

                                             These credulous creampuffs would no doubt believe.


                                             They’d believe that a bullet would change its direction

                                             As if from a magical mid-air deflection.

                                             And a fighting young leatherneck PFC

                                             Could teach himself Russian and travel for free,

                                             And then when the time came, believe it or not,

                                             He’d pull off a motiveless, murderous plot.


                                             They’d believe that the law is the sort of profession

                                             In which criticism can foster depression,

                                             Depression so deep that an upstanding man

                                             Would do himself in with his very own hand.

                                             He’d take his last drive, just as slick as you please,

                                             Without even using his motorcar keys.


                                             They’d swallow a story, and be none the wiser,

                                             Of a powerful bomb made of farm fertilizer.

                                             Lacking the long unused skill of deduction,

                                             They can’t see how unlikely is the destruction.

                                             Unable to reach firm conclusions and hold them,

                                             They’re ripe to believe anything that is told them.


                                             They’d believe that huge shoes fit the feet of a clown

                                             And that hijackers knew that our jets would stand down.

                                             They’d believe those two Chechens, and it could make you cry,

                                             Could never be patsies for the FBI,

                                             And the turmoil in Ukraine, they have the impression,

                                             Is every bit caused by Putin’s aggression.


                                             The pity’s that few have the slightest conception

                                             Of the insidiousness of the deception;

                                             We’re not so much governed as arrantly ruled

                                             By those who regard us as dupes to be fooled.

                                             We’ll never get out of this terrible fix

                                             Until we see who are the real lunatics.


                                             David Martin




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