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

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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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