CONTENT NOTE:
Includes references to violence, child endangerment, religious abuse, transphobia, bigotry, and political extremism.
The Liberty Boy, Detective,
My hero—to be I aspire—
Is my fav’rite mystery-zine,
Bloody, a page-turner to read.
My hero doesn’t just aspire,
He’s finding murder scenes galore,
Bloody—he’s a page-turning read;
I love a good mystery each night.
He’s finding ghastly scenes galore—
Working hard for his Uncle Sam—
I love solid mysteries at night,
Ones that stir the mind and the heart.
Long working days for Uncle Sam
Do not stop him from saving girls
That rapture the mind and the heart—
I’ve never believed I’m a girl.
Nothing stops him from saving girls—
I dream one day to save the world—
I’ve known that I am not a girl.
No matter what others have said.
I will one day help the entire world—
Just like Uncle Sam’s Liberty Boy—
I will grow up with the flag unfurled,
Become a real man—not just a ploy.
Wait!—Uncle Sam says I cannot
Be like my hero, Liberty Boy;
One born as a girl has no shot.
He says that those like me are scum;
Yes!—Uncle Sam says that I cannot—
And worse! He says that I’m just a bum—
All transgendered folk are Godless, gross—
Saying that those like me are fag-scum.
My heart sinks as I’m reading his prose—
Even The Liberty Boy says so,
That all trannies are Godless, gross;
Uncle Sam’s pushing for our rights to go—
I must one day help the entire world—
Even The Liberty Boy says so,
I will rise up with my flag unfurled!
Worse!—so much worse!—this has tainted what was pearled!
Even that image—goddamnit!—comes afresh
This new revelation is fucking my world.
That this is my hero gets into my flesh
And torments me from the inside to the out!
I can feel my blood boil and my anger’s fresh.
That’s always when I will find another route,
When the detective in me comes out on top—
Not that I’m actually one with such clout.
But—if you know this kid right here—that won’t stop
Me from doing the work needed to be done;
These motherfuckers will learn that I’m no prop,
And this boy’s brain is as quick as a damn gun.
Looking through my collection, it’s here I find
That learning ‘bout one’s hero might not be fun.
And I noticed a clue that becomes a bind
For anyone holding to Uncle Sam’s ploy—
For there’s one name behind it coming to mind,
A brand known to every young girl and boy—
Found on ev’ry toy, mystery-zine, and show—
EagleKids USA—known for bringing joy.
It turns out, though, these jerks are really faux,
A front organization hiding power
Beneath pulp fiction and plastic toys that glow.
I turn to the Internet for a shower
Of information, but I am not prepared
For corruption posed as an innocent flow’r.
The deeper I dig I am starting to feel scared
As this stuff involves more than a factory—
Secrets so darkly vile that they must be shared.
Like—truth!—I didn’t know malefactory
Ideas were being sold as wholesome things
To young kids, which is most dissatisfact’ry;
Worse! It’s awful to know—and this is what stings—
That I’ve been made fun of because of these ‘zines,
And their bands and the songs that each of them sings.
The network, as it turns out, runs like machines—
A systemic beast heavy metal bands scream
About in my fave songs, not one of their routines—
And all those machines lead right to one regime.
Yes! I am here, online, finding this all out!
But who will believe me about their grand scheme?
For instance, I didn’t know that up that route
From EagleKids USA is a damned church!—
Liberty Church of America—no doubt
A megachurch, political—can I lurch?—
Teaching that white, straight Jesus hates ev’ry fag,
Tranny, queer, girl and others they will besmirch.
Worse yet, it doesn’t stop there—there’s one more snag—
This church is the home church of the president,
Not that he’d attend—he finds it such a drag.
So, now I know that the White House resident,
Occupying our white house while spewing hate,
Is backed by a religious co-resident
In Liberty Church, the keeper of the gate
Where his evil, hateful policies flow through;
Policies piling up on an upscale plate.
And I can see it’s only getting worse—true!—
It is spreading church to church and house to house.
It doesn’t just stop in DC. What to do?
Policies are made, enforced in the courthouse;
Books are banned from libraries built for learning—
Only straight literature or the jailhouse.
Racism?—no such thing, they’re now discerning—
Women’s rights? The right to stay in the kitchen,
Bearing children—oh man!—my stomach’s churning.
But, as if there could be another stitch in
This constitution of horrid deception,
Another fucking fact appearing—twitchin’:
The president’s not this evil’s inception;
Rather, it travels deeper through the dark web
To a person believed through self-deception,
Known only by the condescending name: Pleb.
That one seems to run the show like a real boss
With a project now called Castrating the Kreb,
What the?—oh goddamn!—there is the double-cross!
The initiative infiltrates houses too—
Parents and schools see us as an albatross
To be sterilized, reformed, to be made new—
What a view of new—to be made status quo.
Are my parents?—all parents?—what’s really true?
But who do I tell this to—where can I go?
To be continued…
POET’S NOTE:
This is the fourth part of Season 2 in my series, Devilishly Dreadful.
For Macabre Monday. Inspired by the anonymous Victorian penny dreadful The Boy Detective; or, The Crimes of London (1865–66), this mixed-form poem reimagines its young detective hero through a modern transgender lens, turning the boy’s pursuit of crime toward the institutions, ideologies, and systems hiding behind the heroes he has been taught to admire.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
Next Macabre Monday
Devilishly Dreadful:
The Initiate; or,
The Mysteries of the White Band
Monday, October 12, 2026
Now Available
Devilishly Dreadful: A Macabre Monday Series, Season 1 on Vinyl
Perfect spooky Halloween entertainment for age-appropriate family and friends. Recommended for ages 16+
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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