History, Written by the Losers

sons of bitches,
sons of whores,
daughters of a failed
revolution

ran their ragged ships
aground,
mistaking escape
for solution.

musket fire
and rhetoric
and winters
unforgiving,

they piled in -
the vagrant horde -
mistaking escape
for living.

empires built
on blood and bone,
and larceny veiled
as blessing;

they took the torch
from liberty
so she could start
undressing.

sons of deacons,
sons of dukes,
daughters of magnates
and martyrs

glad-hand the pauper
and the prince
with daggers
in their garters.

we stand upon the
beaches now,
regretting their
attrition,

wondering what
may lie beyond,
mistaking escape
for ambition.

our hunger
never sated,
as one might well
expect

from sons of bitches,
sons of whores,
daughters of a
quixotic shipwreck.