Isn’t it bad enough that I get told to think reverentially of you?

That by some magical decree of someone’s simple x, my life

is indebted to a system that is morally corrupt

and yet you now say I should mourn for one just as bad,

if not worse.

If I had been a turkey and voted for Christmas’ past

I could understand being placed into an oven and forced

to sweat, over and over as the thought of the carving knife plunged,

steel tipped into my breast…