When the WBC comes to my old home it hits home

The Westboro Baptist Church is scheduled to come protest at my old college on October 21st. I’m considering some kind of counter-demonstration. In the meantime, this poem represents my thoughts:

Adding Fire to the Faggot of my Alma Mater (Westboro Baptist Picket Line)

And the Westboro Baptists
came to the haven of my education
And the Westboro Baptists
knew nothing of the souls that reside there,
yet they feared for the innocent penetration of assholes
And the Westboro Baptists
were tickled by the writhing prick of media
in all the appropriate, consecrated places
And the Westboro Baptists
took the necessary cardboard steps to communicate
God’s judgment in His untimely absence
And the Westboro Baptists
clung to the freedom-of-speech-laws-of-man
as efficiently as angelic lawyers
sinking unholy claws into protection clauses
for neo-Nazis and the KKK
And the Westboro Baptists
did not explore each other’s bodies in public
or urinate drunkenly on a soldier’s grave or
burn an American flag without reason
And the Westboro Baptists
were protected by those in service
who hated them
And the Westboro Baptists
Spoke eternal words in simple phrases, still
believing it was prophecy
And the Westboro Baptists
ignited my silent pen
with the flint of their anger
And the Westboro Baptists
interpreted Christ’s wounds
as a request for further bloodshed
And the Westboro Baptists
drank the tears of a disenchanted Nation
as a Eucharist, bathed in the fire of hell
as a baptism, hated faggot army men
as salvation
And the Westboro Baptists
saw their own safety as a sign of
God’s protection for speaking the truth
and their persecutions as a sign of
manifest destiny
And the Westboro Baptists
praised the deaths of my friends.
And the Westboro Baptists
made me want to suck cock, throw bricks,
perform religious castrations, burn churches,
suicide bomb, recommend abortions,
drink poison, and protest
with my other god damned cheek.

Tags: Poetry, WBC, Westboro Baptist Church