And pot-holed, cranky paths
Of the capital city-village
They roll past with SUVs
Evidence of their pillage
The haunted, torturous path
They inflict on the polis
In their sparkling, splendid
Designer-trimmed suits,
Pig-like and pot-bellied their pictures;
And with disdain, slight
Their looks on the paupers squalid
And disfigured by their plight
Born of the plunder and graft
Of them, pot-bellied brats
Their heads high in pride.
Pride undue and false
Dressed in a cloak of pretense
And pseudo-patriotism
Disfigured nationalism.
I see 2morrow their fall
Final, brute, horrific and unequal
To their spurt-like reign
Their patriotic feign.
I see it soon
Very soon.
August 29, 2007.
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