This poem employs an image the pops into my mind concerning our body politic, that is, poop throwing monkeys…
Monkey Kings
Proud to a fault
As they whir
Citizens
Of sorts abiding
In a banana republic
Run by poop throne monkeys
A hit!
They were fans of it
The warm comfort of familiar feces
Of what they were
Very culpable
Due
Whatever
They want
And if things go south
Go wiled
Fore they have
The ultimate gag
Their klan destined banana
Amor perfect union
With broad
A peel
Courting disaster
Butt given the slip
Awe too often
Falling for it
Obeying
Unlawful gravity
Creating won cries after an other
Making other monkeys uncle
As the poop flies
Gathering
These somewhat united states
Of riot and wrong
Disheveling it
With just their over head pleas
What’s dung is dung
Be for the awe might he
The king wading fore his foot stool
Never peering
To be pooped out
And the subjects
Of daze gone buy
Shrug it off
As best they can
Clinging too
In every weigh
At least
They do do something
