The Undoers of Chairs
Where can we sit?
There isn’t a chair still standing.
They now lie prostrate
with broken backs.
What are they lamenting?
Those eager children with voracious minds
once sat on them with pedagogic postures,
impelled to stoop in perverted stance,
grew into adults with adulterated minds.
But the vacuous chairs whose living wood
refused to be moved by lies
(a hazard in their parlous state)
better reduced, dismantled, axed,
no room for them in this collectivist state.
What is yours is theirs, is theirs, is theirs,
there’s no room for stubborn chairs.
But, comrade, your miscalculation will tire,
where will you sit?
There isn’t a chair still standing.
You’ll soon lie prostrate with broken backs,
reduced, collapsed, repenting.
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