On the dusty floors of the barren house
Rats eat their weight in stale crumbs.
Straight talk pushes through a musty air,
Moving with untold illness. Restless,
Frantic voters, march, plead. Useless,
Their freedom’s song
Pulsing against their teeth.
The country groans,
Wretchedly pleading of liberty;
Words of hope feel oily,
Staining the tongue.
The rats scurry over the boards
In the empty home.
© 2008 mrp/tpm