Back to PodunkA Poem by Maxwell Ryder
The problem with the dead
unjustly, prematurely Put in their graves, Skin burnt, Humiliated, Tortured, Or just raped; Is that they pray still To be liberated From their shame In the people living; They’re the whispers in mosques, Which rise from floors From Baghdad to Helmand, That grow wings And cause drones To miss targets, Hitting wedding parties, And M16s to jam, Putting young men In coffins, back to Podunk So politicians can Sell us more bunk, When all they ought to Sell us is drugs, And cut out the middleman. © 2018 Maxwell RyderReviews
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Added on December 30, 2017Last Updated on January 7, 2018 Author
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