|
| THE LAST MANCHURIAN |
|
|
|
The last Manchurian was old now.
He was smooth. Very smooth. He had always been smooth. As smooth as a candidate before the mud slung. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
He was in what seemed to be a museum now,
With the last several Manchurian monkeys. He recalled how they had froliced In the Manchuria of his youth, As had he, and several other operatives. |
|||||
|
Froliced, funded and dosed
With operative stash, Funding and dosing Across the once great land of Manchuria. |
|||||
|
He recalled the old times
In the once great labs of Manchuria. How calmly the monkeys had sat And rigidly, As they received their intrusions. How patiently he himself had sat. |
|||||
|
How he had wanted to achieve
A funded dosed candidacy In a once great land Where no election had ever taken place Yet things still happened. |
|||||
|
Anxious things.
Anxious yet vague. Slung mud. Borders crossed in dark night clothes. Funded intrusions across once great borders With smooth operative stash. |
©2000 TOM HOSIER |
|
|
|
|
Write: advopath@gmail.com |