Civilization: A poem by Bruce Bawer

Groaning toward his eightieth year, the Free World's leader, on this pleasant August day, Dozes calmly under an apple tree, Dreaming of that episode with Corn Pop, Of children's fragrant hair, banana splits, White sails skimming over Delaware Bay.-- No, actually, he's at a photo op In the White House, opposite the premier Of Israel, and -- ah -- he's fallen asleep,

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