Poem for the month
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Show me a sign you have been to the polling place… |
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the politician raises his purple thumb; and a machete with a crimson edge |
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Ghosts voted here yesterday and left their skeletal scrawls they voted for the ruling party and swelled its phantom figures |
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Babies toe-printed the ballot kicking and screaming all the way their parents laughed and laughed as they forged their way to power |
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A hefty young lady, protuberantly pregnant; and when she went into labour a roomful of ballot was born |
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My candidate or no election my tribe or no country. . . |
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