Good People

They are good people: Mind their own business

save for a kind word over white pickets.

They rake leaves promptly and maintain their lawn.

They keep their dogs from barking too loudly.


They tithe to the church, go every Sunday

and bring that casserole everyone likes.

The men doff their hats as they pass you by.

The women give gentle waves, like butterflies.


In public, always impeccably dressed,

in private always frugal, never loud.

They are good people: All of us say it.

They uphold convention, support the old


and rake their leaves as their neighbor is shot.

Make a casserole as their hairdresser

is corralled behind concertina wire.

They silently judge the loud-speaking women,


and say: Maybe you shouldn’t wear that scarf.

Maybe accept Jesus. What does it hurt?

Maybe you shouldn’t speak up for your “rights.”

Go home. Rake leaves. Make a casserole.


They say: Don’t worry. We will survive this.

The good people always do; it’s the loud

and the brown and the different who don’t

and nothing will change for the good people


because it’s the good people uncoiling

the rope they so carefully set aside

in their clean carport. (You can eat off the floor!)

It’s the good people selecting the tree.


Don’t worry: the good people are holding

the guns. They care for them, like the mower:

impeccably. The good people keep their

uniforms clean, crisp and fresh in waiting.

Mutter mit Kindern

Nazi propaganda photo: A mother, her daughters and her son in the uniform of the Hitler Youth pose for the magazine SS-Leitheft February 1943. Via Wikimedia Commons


About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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