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Poem

The soul is right
The soul is good
It gets no credit
Perhaps it should

Deserves respect
Demands acclaim
We give it up
In someone’s name

Maybe a god
Maybe a king
A pleasant voice
That truly rings --

A handsome face
Virile and stout
Yells when to throw
The garbage out

We like our kings
We cheer our gods
They claim that we
Defy the odds

And exert sway
Over our paths
I think a heard 
Some god just laugh --

No I am sure
One of our kings
Went to his bank
Glibly skipping

Walking on streams
As kings are wont
Best seats in every
Restaurant

While you and I
Just have to wait
And drool upon
Our meager plate

My how they lead
And how we swoon
We get all hot
On honeymoons

And throw our lot
With gods and kings
Who bind our beaks
And smash our wings

Then stuff us with
Their bullish lies
And pluck our young
Before our eyes

I hope you toast
Your god or king
Before your meal
This Thanksgiving

I hope you’re stuffed
When you are done
I hope your team
It will have won

Two minutes left
Til sudden death
When you’re that full,
Hard to take breaths

Or take a knee
In solemn sight
Of every head
Itching to fight

There, in the stands
You’re circumscribed
By gods and kings
Who write your lives

	November, 2020

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