Go back to
where you came from –
is the retort…
people are aghast,
but I am
non plussed…
fuck you…
and your
faux ass
Daddy Warbucks,
if it walks
like a duck…
while lacking
the druthers to
show their real colors
unable to speak
the King’s English,
acts like a
sausage…
but,
check my metaphor
hidden in
the poetic…
as these fiends
have gleefully
traded in the
white sheets
for red caps…
with gibberish
on the front –
this hate…
is not a stunt,
it is their creedo.
And what do you
think about
that?
To imprison them overseas
for a fee
that sounds like
slavery to me…
the shaking of
wobbly bits
ain’t a plan of action
it is a distraction,
addition
by way of subtraction
the co-opting
of strategies
in exchange
for that which
does nothing
for the whole,
may I be so bold
to deposit logic
in these sonnets?
My countrymen
can barely read –
far removed from
hooked on phonics
amid the uncomfortable truth
that the only ones
who can save us,
is us.
A reading by way of the Pa and Son Adventures...
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