day THIRTEEN HUNDRED and SEVENTY TWO

Our Public Servants
or The needle men

the wee within 
hides hollow 
shadows small 
Such slime 
and sin 
and grime 
they grin 
Much mock the moral mall 
In greed they grip 
the public tit 
Lick all 
the wrong behinds 
The useless twits 
with inbred wits 
use farts 
to fuel their minds 
Call down rehearsed 
their red tape curse 
in girth 
of unknown tome 
Whine 
why alone 
Mime 
no known tones 
But worse 
they ALL tell lies 

--Steven B. Smith