Fatuous flunkies,

debt-ridden and deprived, wave

their frayed little flags 

In a world gone to 

hell your baptism of fire 

is but a burnt match 

A black squirrel shakes 

the tree limb til berries fall 

for its waiting kin  

Cherish mementos 

of these brief moments shared with 

no one but ourselves

You reflection is

deformed not be algae and 

peeling paint, but lies 

Interwoven lines

of lies and lover's wooing 

are poesy's perch   

Scorched earth bitten by

the sun and ravaged by man 

yearns for a rebirth