Who Put the Feather Up Your Ass, Mr. Giggles?


We had just consecrated

The offspring of starlets,

The dew still limpid

As blood diamonds on Astroturf


When the difference makers

Made one false move;

Burying their dead

In plain sight.


Then the one who talked

Flopped his tongue out;

It drooped flaccid as a Colombian necktie

Down the front of his white shirt.


He’d eat a pile of dogshit

For a fresh Franklin

One delegate nudged another in the ribs.

He’s got my vote.


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