Holes. Poem by Michael Griffith

Rudderless boat
Butcher, Baker, Prostitute, LLC
Should a storm wash them ashore
Deserted island,
At least they’ll all have someone to eat.
The flies demand their lord,
Though a lady will do just as well
So long as her promi$e$
Ring true enough
And their multi-eyed glare she can meet.
The boat leaks
The three try to plug the holes
Try to keep it afloat
For this island Earth
Needs them powder-dry and smelling sweet.
The land they came from
Is the land of their fathers
And mother Liberty is growing smaller
As they float off in their Sea of Words
And fill the holes until one will die in the heat,
One will die of deceit,
And one will rule over the flies.


Bio: Michael Griffith began writing poetry after a life-changing injury as a way for his spirit to heal as his body recuperated. His poems have appeared in Haiku Journal, Dual Coast Poetry, and Ripen the Page, as well as other online journals. He resides in central NJ. https://michaelgriffithwordpress.wordpress.com/
[email protected]
[email protected]

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