fighting the good fight
battling
the braying rote of bureaucrats who parlay procedure and protocol as if
they were priests
and
the Bible their snarling dogma
I guess it comes down to who
has the bigger dog in the fight
and they expect my dog
to
roll over and die
well
he
can play dead
then when they come
walking up to nudge him with the toe of their boot hell take
that toe off up to their groin
and
with their femoral artery thrown open like a floodgate at Hoover Dam
theyll - unable
to run on two legs - lay where they fell and writhe and go
pasty-coloured like yellow fat cut
from meat to make up suet and tallow
and when their artery has
belched and collapsed
Ill
skate on the wet mud and finger their bulging eyes shut
trained dogs obediently die
every day for their Masters
me and mine
well
play dead and wait for the next point-man
1635, Friday,
16 11. 12
