A strong wind roars across America
There’s a whiff of something bad in cool air.
The political sewers have collapsed,
And cars drive into Trumpholes everywhere.
Thirty confederate flatbed pickups,
Convene way out on highway eighty five,
Old glory flags aplenty fly up high,
Wide eyed frightened wasps, dead yet still alive.
We drive past quickly, leave them all behind,
Head on to a dazzling future Off Grid,
Beyond their hurricane that nasty blows,
These Jones’s don’t know what it is they did.
Still is this morning once tempest is quelled,
Peace rules over madness across our world.

Harry Rogers, 521 Harold Avenue, Atlanta  24/08/2017.

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