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Poem

She walks with pride,
Maybe she thinks of herself as queen.
It can happen with time,
Her mind plays a wicked game.
But nonetheless, I’m cynical of Polly.

With every click and flash she gives a sly smile,
Doesn’t anyone else notice?
Am I getting a wrong picture?
But then she winks at me.
She makes me mad, I’m cynical of Polly.

As the press pries prudently into Polly,
She rejects their questions with her steely eyes.
Head held so high, she can’t see it,
People cry in despair, doesn’t reach her ear.
She just doesn’t care, oh, I’m cynical of Polly!

All she knows is her precious votes,
Counting them on her fingers “One, two, three….”
Flings her purse, strides down the stairs,
Her heels ready to crush some souls.
She is evil in disguise. Damn right, I’m cynical of Polly.

The rich bow down to her, she has that aura,
I despise her but I envy her.
To have that power, I would go mad too,
Won’t I just do anything to be in her shoes?
She dazzles me yet I’m cynical of Polly.

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