Given
some rope, they've torn the statues down
To
piss on legendary heads, the groins
Bedecked
in amaryllis and ablaze.
(Who
would have guessed that amaryllis burns,
And
colorfully?) The shoppers fill their carts
With
freebies. (Who'd have guessed they wanted phones
Far
more than sandwiches?) The songs they sing
Are
short on lyric wordplay, long on scat.
We
made no plans to emigrate, but have
Our
havens in the hinterlands, where treats
Are
plastic shoes on Sundays, where delight
Is
puddings made of pigs and doughty men
Pray
to the forest just because it's there.
(Who
knew that gods had green cards or that wolves
Wanted
our wives for bon-bons in the smoke?)
No comments:
Post a Comment