The safe places are all taken
The seats have all been sold
The crowd awaits its execution
Crime is on a roll
With the mayo being held in contempt
And all beef bologna sold at a premium
Terrorism is no longer local politics
The radio active dirty bombs
Are all packed in designer luggage
With shrapnel, napalm grenades and religion for effect
White phosphorous on brown and yellow skin
Creates no less pain than when applied on white bread
Someone prays for God to be good to him
Somewhere in the heavens
George Burns is telling Gracie to say “Goodnight”
As we watch the destruction of the world
In High Definition and on pay per view tonight
Our hermetically sealed genitalia
Sitting on the couch with our discarded embryo
One can only wonder…
Why are we really here?
Ted Sheridan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/food-for-the-gods/
