I begin this prose in quite a conundrum.
Trying to find peace but haven’t yet found some.
I begin every morning alive with the news.
CNN, FOX –they give me the blues.
I’m just the blonde, living on the prairie-
But toot’in my own horn (which is really quite scary!)
I’m a woman with hormones and I have a gun.
Bring me a militant and I’ll get ‘er done.
My posse is housewives – women of strength.
Proverbs 31 proves they’d earn “General” as ranks.
Each and every one of them is as patriotic as me.
So we wonder how dumb our elected can be.
An Ambassador got murdered and drug through the streets
Of a city called, “Benghazi” that harbors hateful creeps.
Not all, but many protested outside.
The people blamed a video while our leader ducked to hide.
Now I’m not a rocket scientist I’m just a girl.
But the date of the murders alone had me hurl.
September 11th was a slap in our faces.
Yet our elected went on like another day of graces.
Mothers of North Dakota and those on the farm
Don’t’ take lightly to murder or harm.
It’s time you let us at them to teach them some stuff.
We’ll put on our cowgirl boots and walk it out tuff.
Arm and arm we’ll travel in lines.
Eating bacon and pork and roasting the rinds,
We’ll scream, “God Bless America” as we tell of the news-
That Israel must survive because our God loves the Jews!
We are a people suppressed as can be.
Why do we let it happen-someone please tell me?
If I was as sneaky as our elected appear.
My own mama would whip me good on the rear. (And she’s in Heaven. It doesn’t even rhyme.)
We need to restore this America-
The one we call, “Home.”
We need to protect everyone in her from the Atlantic
Why are our citizens put in harms way-?
When our leaders disappear and have nothing to say?
The day of death came and went for the Ambassador in Libya.
While our leader hid out leaving propaganda from the media.
Libya of all places –why are we there?
When the homeless in America could use the government’s care?
And who are these people that take the risk to go?
Money is evil – a tempter- I know.
Now I’m not going to tell you just how you should vote.
But then don’t be amazed when you see my posse riding goats.
Goats eat anything including the garbage at the dump.
They take care of the bad weeds and aren’t afraid to jump.
Cowgirls on goats with the Blonde on the Prairie
Can take any foreign policy and turn it around daringly.
All countries would fear us in our “Girls with Guns” attire.
Our womanly hair blowing as we showed them real martyrs.
I’m not condoning violence-I’m really all talk.
That said, should a militant ever knock.
We’ll I’d shoot him with my water gun right between the eyes-
I’d straddle him with my boots on and point straight in to sky.
I’d give him the look the one that makes me look mean.
I’d shake my finger shamefully while stepping on his jeans.
I’d speak in universal language so he’d surely understand.
To back off America or he’ll see his last stand.
Shame on us for letting things happen.
Shame on us for election year scrapp’in.
Shame on us for allowing this in.
And shame on us all for sin upon sin.
God Bless Mighty Israel and America too.
Watch over our leaders from Washington to Timbuktu.
Let religions decide to lose their cloaks of death.
And let militants not kill before taking their last breath.
My posse is meeting next Monday night.
Bring your boots, hats and hormones for a candle we’ll light.
The light of a Proverbs 31 woman can never be mistaken.
Unless you’re a militant who needs a good spank’ in.
Goodnight fellow Patriots both women and men.
Please get your vote in and be an American gem.
RIP Dear Ambassador killed in vain.
RIP all the others as bullets and beatings did rain.
I don’t want to rhyme anymore.
I just want to pray.
So I’m going to.
At this rate, I’m gonna need more goats.
And I definitely will need more bacon.
But most of all I need to stop watching the news.
We all need to get more involved so we don’t turn into Egypt or Libya.
We need leaders of integrity, courage who believe in the America that was founded way back when men married Proverbs 31 women.
Ingstad lives on the prairie near Valley City and writes this column for the Times-Record.