The Vault

Benjamin Franklin cried in the corner.

His cotton blanket bleeding chlorophyll,

saturating the gold encrusted floor.

Bound in chains, his sadness turned into rage.

His primal scream, masked by the red, white, and blue gag, silenced a once revered rhetoric.

The tyranny he helped battle now bore his face.

He could hear the presses outside the vault

cackling, taunting him, and sullying his name.

Ben’s chains tightened with each paper doppelganger born.

Wincing in furious agony, he heard the cry of his once free people.

The prison vault door opened and the Jackass grinned at the once-proud defender of liberty.

The Ass picked up the centuries-old cotton sheep herding tool,

stamped with the tainted seal of donkey and elephant.

“Relax, you’re still the face of the American Way!” mocked the Jackass.

The ass cackled and walked out of the vault.

The Elephant, a guardian of America’s dungeon, spat on Ben as he closed the vault door.

Ben screamed, muffled by the worn-out flag and silenced by the mechanical wolves that howled in the room outside.