Whatever Happened to the Unbent Man?

Where have all the crooked men gone?
Chased to their niches by the unbent and their guns.
A kiss on the cheek warrants a name on pink,
pinned to the billboard at school-
the blackmail possessed by the unbent man.

Where have all the unbent men gone?
Chased to the shadows by the crooked and their love.
Afraid of being converted to wickedness!
prepared to fix the crooked
with seething words and undue hate.
Has your love been deluded?
Your children lied to; your women stolen
by sheep in wolves' clothing?
Never have I watched a crooked man
shove the unbent into a tight quarters
with a light on the ceiling that you turn on
with a thin little chain;
where they're sentenced to choke
on mothballs and the acid in their throat
that you've given them to drink
goblet-full by goblet-full.

"How dare they wish to be treated as equals!"
Such grit and audacity from the crooked people!
Who refuse to stay hidden in their quarters.
Who refuse to be beaten for leaving.
They will not tear down those who allow them to stand,
but they'll roar into oblivion
the hatred of the unbent man.

Whatever happened to the unbent man?
"They were overthrown by the crooked!"

Posh.

If you'd been overthrown by the crooked,
the entire world would damn well know it.
There wouldn't be anything more to see of unbent men.
But there are enough of you to riot
on days set aside for memory of our fallen,
and for the celebration of those who survived.
And there are enough of you to cry wolf at lambs
and accuse them of wearing a nonexistent disguise.
There are enough of you to staunch our rights,
and push us back into our mothball-infested corners.

Whatever happened to the unbent,
with their perfect, shiny teeth?
Their nails are the razors our teenagers use,
their words are the bridges. The shoelaces. The pill bottles.
Whatever happened to the unbent,
and their guns and their fists and their threats?
Have they been silenced? Thrown out?
I still see your names on certificates.
I see your narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils
as you watch us glide down the street
hand-in-hand, only mostly unafraid
of all of the unbent men that we'll meet.

"Whatever happened to the unbent men?"
they ask, as they weep for themselves and their rights-
both of which still exist,
neither of which we have any desire to silence
or to wipe out, or to bring to demise.

Nothing has happened to the unbent man;
he's only been asked to share with us.