Killing The Goose

The heroes all died.
We peeped in their homes,
we attacked their cars,
we gave them reality TV shows,
we threw them in recording studios.
We invited them on Dr. Phil
And invited their family members.
We shined the brightest spotlight we could find
on their foreheads until they burned.
We doused them in water
until they became waterlogged.
We sucked the air out of their lungs
and sold it on EBay for 50 bucks a jar.
We worshipped the toilets they shit in,
until there were no more bathrooms.
We wrote over the passages in the bible
with whatever they said this morning while
trying to get a bowl of Cheerios.

And then we attacked the heroes.
We invited panelists to talk about
how lousy these people really are,
when they aren’t saving the world.
We asked each other if we should
worship people who aren’t perfect,
We asked if there was anybody left
in the world who was truly spotless.
We looked for those people, shining
that spotlight while it burned every
person in it’s path. We burned them
all, we burned them all, and when
we discovered that nobody was the
perfect being we’ve needed, when
we discovered that every person
bleeds when you gut them, we had
the nerve to act surprised. Nobody
was left unscarred, and that’s when
we really needed the heroes. Then
again, we killed them, and they died.