A Poem / by David Byrd-Marrow

Man for Himself 

 

They can't stop sleeping in the sky.

Now that all of God's people have a god,

The strange fruit belongs to the bat.

And the sweet smell keeps them fat.

The stylish needs of the poor

drive the whole world to war.

The children will not stop playing.

 

© David Byrd-Marrow 2002