The Duckster...
Born choking with cash,
even sent to military school,
like some damned fool,
he breathes nothing but hot air
into a buzzard's environment,
a whimpering Presbyterian ('Oh, so nice! ')
A face like a Roman spear,
clothes made in China,
ashes to ashes,
I can see him as a swaddling cloth in the mirror,
his hair combing itself back.
Be careful, he might even
steal your ego.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well said baby gal! xo