Day 4, PAD challenge. Prompt: "pick a type of person and write a poem about him/her."
you are for all time, like the
poverty, death, disease you
breed as you strut, peacock-feathered,
stiffened with gold braid as
volleys of ancient Kalashnikovs
fruitlessly pierce the sky
the blood dripping from your
pure gold taps--does it taste good?
or does it cramp your stomach, like
that of a child crying for cereal while
her mother faints in the sun?