No Town for Young Men -- Except in May

The river's course is slower in its banks,
From which it nearly overspilled; its roar
Resounding in our fears summoned the ranks
Of Guardsmen, football players... Days of yore
Saw us defend ourselves from waters' rage.
But now, enfeebled, we gladly depend
On others' youth and strength, and blame our age
For what our dollars cannot do. We send
The young to fight our battles ev'rywhere.
We did it once; it's your turn now, we say
To no one (for there is nobody there;
Our monoculture's drowned us out). Today
The sandbags block our views, but we just wait
To pay someone to take them, soon or late.