Monday, 19 February 2018


When the NRA dines a congressman,
Let the wine flow red. May delicacies
Of the finest virtue be spiced with the
Piquant savour of freshly fallen tears.

Summon a bowl of terrified children’s
Eyes, and belch generously before they
Are forked into hungry and grinning mouths.
Perhaps a pâté of suckling livers

To whet the appetite? And then they might
Pick at a roast of tender baby’s breast,
Lovingly warmed in milk, before, with a
Flourish, the waiter raises the domed lid

From the pièce de résistance – the cold, dead
Hands of those who pleaded for help in vain.

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