New TCBH! poem: ‘Patriarchy — how it ends’

The kings,
They come in caravans to die
And they bring with them their servants.
And their jewels stay with them
When they are buried

One hundred years apart
In the back yard.
And their graves
Fall down
And are removed

For paving stones
And the road that the kings arrived on
Is called Kings Highway.
Now cars race along that way
Right off the edge

And are buried and so on.
And doesn’t this sound familiar?
The lights turn green;
They let the cars go,
And then they turn red as blood

And they stop and are buried.
And the cars rust
And turn to dust.
And now we’re having dinner
In a busy restaurant

And the old man excuses himself
And gets up to use the bathroom…


For the rest of this new poem by ThisCantBeHappening! resident poet GARY LINDORFF, please go to:

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