Glorified Minions ~ Thursday, May 8, 2025

I wish I were a billionaire poet

with an artistic temperament, throwing

insults at passersby like globs of paint

sloshed onto a canvas, angrily set

handfuls screaming with epithets of rage

I wish I were never born, billowing

white clouds of steam from smoke stacks, one complaint

egregiously monstrous from a neighbor

remarking that the apple in a cage

entertainingly symbolic but lame

as political protest art, to face

bourgeois, corporate employees, the same

ignorant social skill set of disgrace

lingering as the engineers of war

likely governmental sycophants show

in hand, thumb between two fingers, the fig

only informers as snitches display

not just contempt for authority, slow

asinine thought processes, a donkey

in the ranks of the president, poor pig

revolving around the sun, hear the bray

eccentric followers lack importance

pigs obsequiously obey a flea

obey their master, give the dog a bone

erect a monument to a life spent

tearing others apart, a cornerstone

worked with chiseled hands, arthritic and bent

inside the office, pigs follow the dance

the demons exorcised, pigs follow suit

honor bright, pigs drowned in a lake, salute