And nothing base here
but the occasional alto bike
And soprano chit-chat
of the distant jungle.
On the morrow
A court will raise the morning box lid
From its hinges
And swarming mosquitoes
Will take to the famished air
And suck each other’s blood,
colliding like cockroaches
In a small corner of the world.
“when we’re bad
We’re very bad, lah
But when we’re good.....”
The kleptocrat stands trial
To clear his name.
The lawyer makes his case.
You gave yourself gifts
Made in Manhattan
Mansions in LA.
You had your Picasso of artists
Monet in your pocket
And a wolf on Wall Street.
Now your thoughts
Lie behind bars
Padlocked in fear.
And we thrill to the grill.
© David Ellis
David Ellis - [Twitter: @Davellis123]
David is a retired English language lecturer and writer of short stories and poems, living precariously close to the fast-receding sand dunes of Merseyside.
David is a retired English language lecturer and writer of short stories and poems, living precariously close to the fast-receding sand dunes of Merseyside.
