Fat Farm

sell your soul
for if you sell
your body all
dirt turns to gold
gold pockets
gold chains 
as the back aches 

smack that body 
monday through friday 
dont let the eyes 
see,

atleast give them the weekend 
as they have 
been good little sheep

soon burn the grass
light up their
soft fur 

close the obese bank account, 
all sheep have baught 
a piece
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace