by Daryl Ross Halencak
Before the end of the year, their war and the Wall will cleanse middle-class budgets.
And the power brokers said:
Those blue Bastards!
Let’s kill the Liberals in Congress.
Take up red arms against the poor and the needy.
March against the blue working class.
They raised bloody red fists in defiance.
Street by street, they carried terrible swift swords against ghetto by ghetto.
They eliminated all opposition.
Gulags were full.
Minorities were on the trains to the South.
Social crematories continued to infuse in private jails.
They Order restored.
And they lived happily ever after.
Amen and amen.
The Rain Never Comes
by Daryl Ross Halencak
In the food basket, the increment weather hits to the bone like a hot summer day in hell.
They cry for a sip of tepid water.
The starving farmers will look for the sky for the clouds.
Breezes will not dry the brow:
the wet skin will drown from the sweat.
Surely the drought will be broken,
but I doubt it.
When the glaciers have fallen into the ocean;
when the sun shines the Devil’s grin;
when the deserts have creep into the tropics,
the food source withers and the workers will slip into oblivious.
Life will cease.
The Dust Bowl will return
all over the world.
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