Long Hair Professor Poem by The Poet SPIEL

this dreary has-been
smears his creed on his left bicep

like a tattoo engraved in blood
drawn from a once-impassioned war

unaware
that when he flexes that muscle

its peace and love message is scattered
to snips of radical gibberish

revealing that his intolerance
might be better served

facing his own closet mirror
engulfed by moth-ridden doves

their feathers fallen to a heap
at his battle-booted feet