Serviette

Poem

Lo, and behold the millions bloated,

yes, those who rejoice at my flatulence.

Constitutionalists walking business 

caz streets poorly 

buttoned, chewing

patent leather donuts.

Drive-thru Crete; a paradiso for

gluttons too fat to abscond 

on Hellenic wings.

I am the footnote of

their doctrine.

Bifocals for Sambo, so that he might read 

the fine print under 

his blood.

Ere long till overflow,

adrift in the same bowl 

as their bobbled hegemony.

Pledging allegiance to

s**t daubed

Just above my upper lip,

ay i have another whiff,

or at least a foreword in The Atlantic.

Help me smelly ghosts

of latter day semiotics,

signify the f****r and fucked.