The Ballad of Hunky-Dorry
Our great leader sits
in his bunker
making his demands,
throwing his tantrums,
blaming everything other
than himself,
denying
there's anything wrong.
Issuing pompous bull
about everything
being
all hunky-dory.
Pathetic.
With a capital PAH!
We were great
weren't we?
A shining beacon?
An icon of goodness and light?
But it's too late.
A pity, a pity.
Too late,
too late.
The plug has been pulled
and we swirl ever downward.
The lever has been pushed
and we rush headlong down
the tubes
and into the sewer.
Leaving naught but a black hole
of emptiness.
Moral, ethical, artistic
even constitutional
emptiness.
Even the sun shuns us,
sinking lower
and lower
in the sky.
What's to be done?
Doug Palmer 2007
4 comments:
I must most energetically protest!
If that's what you people are calling poetry these days, I'm am most happy to not be around anymore.
.....Emily Dickinson
I guess you got that right, babe!
.........Walt Whitman
If I wasn't so dead myself I'd have to agree with the both of you.
........Dot Parker.
(I don't imagine for a moment that you are sophisticated enough to read my signature as dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, Dot, Parker, are you, you suppurating pustules.)
Is that about me?
......Shary Dwartz
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