Buried In Clay – a poem

Ya know…

I just hate to say

I look towards the day

Your body’s buried deep in the clay.

It feels bad to think

That I’ll raise up a drink

To know it’s you not your behavior that stinks.

In every act, word, and deed

You begged of a need

To feed your vast greed.

Like a spoiled brat

Who knew better than that

But who felt all who refused were nothing but rats.

You raised every red flag

You had stuffed in your bag

And treated us all like simple shit rags.

I can’t wait for the day

I hope it’s a May

When I can plant you a prize in the ground where you stay.

A beautiful beast

That will make of you a feast

As its roots suck your marrow right down to the least.

Perhaps one cool night,

When I’m feeling just right

I’ll even shit where you sleep tight.

But I just hate to say

I look towards the day

Your body’s buried deep in that clay.

Fuck it.

Hooray!