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.