Putin, What Is Your Alibi? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Putin, what is your alibi?
Doesn't it make you want to cry?
Doesn't it make you want to lie down and die?
Did you not hear what Pope, Francis said?
In the name of God, stop this massacre
you're carrying more dung around with you
than an earthworm, a lily beetle, more blood
even than a mosquito or that of a bloodworm
'isn't that true'.
Putin does it make you honestly proud,
There's filthy creature's waist-deep
in muck more redeeming than you.
Putin, your destruction makes your country poor
Putin, you've now made Russia landlocked
from the west, and the rest of the civilised world
Just as much as if that US cosmonaut joke,
about how he won't be coming back home anytime soon.
Putin, what is going on in that befuddled head?
Are you playing Russian roulette with a revolving gun?
I wish I could pull the trigger instead of seeing
all these innocent Ukrainians lying dead.
My god, what have they done, that their old folk,
women and children must run like their possessed
simply to not-end-up dead. Putin, you belong in a
deep-fiery pit of hell, on a never-ending carousel ride
with bullets ricocheting off the back of your head.
Putin, you deserve to be dead or made into a pit pony.
Never to see the skies or the sun above
you, should-be-made to carry the bones of your dead
because this world hasn't-any-more love, for you,
you're just a rock shadowy evil serpent's dwell in,
and even morose deathwatch beetles cry in.
Putin, what's your alibi?
Doesn't it make you want to cry?
Doesn't it make you want to lie down and die?