The darkmen are here
with their talk of free speech,
reaching for their baseball bats,
their banter and bullets.
They’ll be running the ghettos,
spying from high towers
with their smiles and their rifles
and their Aryan eyes.
The darkmen are here
burning our books
with their flaming torch fingers,
they mingle among us
monosyllabic,
saluting the foes
of their granddaddy’s wars.
The darkmen are here
unthinking, unblinking.
They cannot add up
but they move in
ever multiplying numbers.
Their ears are numb
but their boots are heavy,
marching into a battle
that nobody wants
except them.
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