Joan Baez has never been one to mince words, and she’s certainly not starting now. The woman who sang for civil rights at the March on Washington is back, and this time she’s wielding a pen sharper than any guitar string.
Her new poem, “Cranberry Sauce,” just dropped in The Independent, and let’s just say, it’s not exactly a love letter to the Trump administration.
Baez, who’s spent decades fighting for justice, seems to have finally run out of patience for the “psychos” running the country. If you thought her activism mellowed with age, think again. She’s still got more fire than a Fox News meltdown.
Pacifism Meets Pure Snark
Baez’s poem is a masterclass in passive-aggressive wish fulfillment. She wonders if her lifelong pacifism really obligates her to love everyone, even the current crop of political ghouls.
Spoiler: she hopes not.
The poem is a delicious fantasy of seeing Trump and his enablers face down in their Thanksgiving dinners, swimming in cranberry sauce. It’s the kind of daydream every liberal has had at least once, but Baez actually put it in writing.
If ridicule is their kryptonite, consider this poem a supernova.
Here’s the full masterpiece.
Cranberry Sauce
As a pacifist, do I have to love everyone? Do I have to love the psychos who are running the country? I hope not.
Am I allowed my fantasies so long as I don’t hurt anyone? Not to worry, these guys and gals are immune to pain!
Though I have heard some of them are sensitive to ridicule.
So when I say I’d like to see them all dead at their Thanksgiving dinners, face down in the cranberry sauce . . . well, I can dream, can’t I?
Get the real story, not the far-right fantasy. Subscribe now. Your support keeps this space open and ad-free.
Why This Poem Matters
Baez’s “Cranberry Sauce” isn’t just a vent session. It’s a reminder that art can still punch up, even when the targets are as shameless as they come.
The poem’s humor and honesty cut through the noise, giving voice to the frustration so many feel. Baez doesn’t just call out the powerful; she invites us to laugh at them, too.
In a world where outrage fatigue is real, sometimes a little snark is exactly what resistance needs.
Joan Baez’s Cranberry Sauce isn’t just a poem it’s a sigh, a smirk, and a scream wrapped in velvet irony. At 82, she still writes with the fire of someone who’s seen too much and refuses to look away. There’s something heartbreakingly honest in her question: “Do I have to love the psychos running the country?” It’s the kind of moral fatigue only a lifelong pacifist could voice with such grace. Her words don’t incite they expose. They whisper what many feel but dare not say aloud. And yet, even in her imagined vengeance, there’s humour, restraint, and a deep yearning for decency. Baez reminds us that protest can be poetic, and that age only sharpens the pen. This isn’t bitterness it’s clarity, earned over decades of watching history repeat itself.
Wonderful poem 😘🤌