December 30, 2014The Diminishing Politics of Senator Les S. Moore
He promises, he pleads, he plies.
No matter that his truths are lies.
He has the future in his eyes.
Exuding witty, city charm,
he claims just once will do no harm
and soon she’s leaning on his arm.
Says he, My sweet, I know not where
I’ve seen such breasts or silky hair.
Your very breath refines the air.
Cream and peaches is your skin.
I die of love. Our souls are kin.
Of course the goose will vote him in.
This is, of course, a metaphor.
You know who senators pimp for,
who screws both ends of either/or.
Where there’s a con, there is a shill.
Who rides the jet? Who slogs the hill?
Who’s doing great? Who’s faring ill?
Who reaps the kale our country grows,
that shiny green in endless rows?
Who sells their souls? Who owns? Who owes?
Behold the Politic Noblesse
they smile and wave, they scam and bless.
The rich get more, the poor get less.
Each self-excusing sneaky cheat,
just grins when life turns up the heat
and shrugs: Hey folks, I gotta eat.
from #44 - Summer 2014