labor day poem


S.O.S.: LABOR DAY POEM



Foxy spawns in the game, they digit post-truth for the lame,

for ladies and lords of the burning-cross clans,

for stupidities hatching fascist plans, damning the media of the changing same.



Tweets shall neither night nor day

cease within his tower's lid;

he shall long live a thug forbid,

working seven vices, nine times nine.



They, three sisters hand in hand,

trump ire, peppering water, salting land,

thus do twerk, around, about,

thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,

and thrice again, to make up nine

and anodize all reason out.



Tweets shall neither night nor day

cease within his power's grid;

he shall survive and thrive a thug forbid,

working seven vices, nine times nine.



Paris coutured, Kremlin perfumed,

they, none of human born,

eclipse his mane, blonde-rinse his eyes,

moon-dust and polish his horn,

lightly catechism false fact lies,

any old thing at any old rate to make the nation great.



Tweets shall neither night nor day

cease within his penthouse lid;

he shall survive and thrive a thug forbid,

working seven vices, nine times nine.





Jerry W. Ward, Jr.            September 4, 2017

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