Game Over

Take off the fake crown.
The cities are sick because of you.
London is sick. New York is sick.
Rome and Los Angeles are sick too.
Ground your locomotives.
Put away your dog whistles.

I have no loyalty toward you.

All your ships have sailed.
I do not know how far you can swim.

The Amazon is sick.
Grand Central Park is sick too.

The Rhine and The Hudson are sick.

No wise words come from you.
Hope has folded its wings.

It’s the same old song and story.
I can’t wait to bid you goodbye.

Take a hike and watch the door.
The snows of summer know of climate change. This was your last
hurrah. The sun is dying.

Swallow that dog whistle.

The game is over.

Go on and get.

The humpback whales despise you.
There is marching in the streets.

The stars are not aligned for you.
The land of milk and honey is dry.

Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Dissident Voice, and Struggle Magazine. Read other articles by Luis.