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Mass-panic

Herd-mongers, schoolmarms and glorious twats
Piloting leased arks through drenched parking lots
Cadillacs cleansed of a fine week’s debris
Just in time for the polish of sanctimony

A river of swine, like the Jordan, it crosses
Over deserts of disheartened workers and bosses
The fracas of worshippers, beanied and veiled –
In the Third World, could pass for a fish market sale

There are loaves, there are nets – there’s nothing to eat
There’s so little legroom; there are beads on my seat!
There’s a mountain of missals, there’s a tower of babblers
And a nice hidden room for perpetual hagglers

There’s prime VIP seating, a great view of a tomb 
Completely adjacent to the activities room
There’s most anything anyone could need or want,
So long as it comes from a baptismal font

When in walks a figure, so stiff and ordained,
You know in a moment he must be a saint
He’ll heal a few cripples, a Lazarus or two
And distribute those wafers that keep us renewed

Then we offer up thanks to some white-beard in the ether
With all of the joy of a rheumatic fever
And spill from the pews, lemmings on marble tile
And back onto the ark for brunches-du-style 

‘cause the deluge has cornered-down many a mile
And sacrificed many a kind word and smile
Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled –
Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child 
Tolerance chiseled, evolution defiled –
Maybe let’s keep its hooks off the last decent child.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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