The self-anointed self seated on a high horse
Holding
tight to the barricades that
Once
were
Strong
Is
now nothing more than a rag-tag butter muffin selling pink strings of sugar at
The
local carnival
Teary
eyed with a painted smile
Optimistic
with a hint of liquor
The
smell of spirits
Rises
….
He
glares at the children
And
their
Sweat
stained shirts
….
Leers
at the lovers
With
their
Tangle
of fingers
….
Scowls
at the proud parents
And
their
Ever-watchful
eyes
….
The
smoke in the air hangs thick
A
blanket of humidity
Envelops
the fair ground
As
the self-anointed self
Struggles
less and less convincingly
Against
the maudlin residue
That
is caked on every corner of its existence
Thick
and all encompassing
There
is no room to wiggle
No room to squirm
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