Marathon Woman’s Woe

(An end to electoral distraction: now the leashed can be loosed)

In white man’s land
Even the loser presidential
Knows the invisible hand
It makes or breaks
The candidates we see
Would elect illusions
(for a fee).

A sadistic sodomist
Dreamed to win
Solo or in tandem
She like him.

Descending New York’s
Lofty heights
‘Twas on the plains
They took their fights
Dissent and distress
Took their seats
Across mendacity aisle
With disgust replete.

In the wake of wind
And last weed’s tumble
Sodomy’s sycophants’
Incessant grumble
No demos crawled
To Democracy’s urn
Only delegates and therapists
Speak out of turn
To tell the People
And the Senate
How burning homes
So fine the sky lit.

Running from Thermopylae
Spreading trauma along the way
Past years of war
Both day and night
(No real surprise one must say)
The world with suffering
To saturate
Ungrateful sovereigns
To assassinate
To steal the gain
Enhance the pain
All of it to be led again
In the land of the eagle
With its two wings right
Whether male or female
By a head feathered white.

Dr T.P. Wilkinson writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is also the author of Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..