Hollow Trophy Poem by Kevin Patrick

The cleaner's bill is staged for the idle hours spoiled
On your horticulture manicurist
Who sell you on the idea of installing a portable moat
As a means of ensuring you have positive Feng shui
Meanwhile your bloodstone zodiac crest is being prepared
In the makeshift cafeteria
With the rusted diesel walls,
As you stand with a tray filled with your cashed requiems
Just as your son was abducted by aliens
Whom you charged for ransom - practically wholesale
And paid by collect, for long distance call waiting
Listening to their snake oiled voices
Fill up your ears with the immutable worship
With the deep impacting forces of meteor strike
Annihilating the remnants of your humility to
Full mass Extinction with marks of distinction
To scraps of remorse
But like all terrible things you're a survivor
Who does well to make good
And can spin dirt into gold
With the verve of a bull
Sharp smile, jazzy savvy, full of confidence and brazen thunder
While underneath the sad fact always lurks
That you're a hollow trophy wonder