Sunday, December 20, 2020

day FOURTEEN HUNDRED and THIRTY THREE

Plucked Chicken

Like a plucked chicken,
he squawks and struts.
Like a wounded animal,
he grunts and growls.

He’s got the kitchen
sink of lawyers
and lies to toss around
and see what sticks.

The lights are dimming.
The sun and stars
are no longer shining
on his dark soul.

It was never fun
and it lasted
much too long for us and
the world at large.

Sure he has his boys
he has brainwashed
to follow his lead and
spread his hatred

for all he does not
understand like
the rule of law and for
equality. 

--Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal




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