A car shot past our home to the east, in our case, to the left of our home. He hit the brake lights two or three times like he was looking for a place to turn around in. Nothing presented itself so he kept going. I remarked that he’d gone too far left to turn around. My wife wrote it down, and bingo a star is born.

TOO FAR LEFT, CAN’T TURN AROUND

Big highway of divide, perfect place to have a wreck in,

Now voting doesn’t cut it, discord and violence beckon.

Sirens scream in the distance, a cacophony of sound,

Aide to those gone so far left they couldn’t turn around.

Speedboats in a face off, roar of power, water splashing,

Big money rides the waves, from below free men are thrashing.

First Amendment sinking, agenda sees the second drowned,

Our hard-won ride is freedom, but seems sometimes run aground.

Preachers in the pulpit, one is here, the other there,

The right extolls mans virtue, one left just doesn’t care.

Both shout out convictions, and so upon their reasons pound,

Truth matters not to one, he’s left so far can’t turn around.

You had a good home but you left… I’m right… you left,

A unified country once… but it’s broke… it’s cleft.

The change you have forced, on all… of us… is so… profound,

And you have gone too far left… too late… to turn… around.

Last stanza: a marching cadence