Radioactive Activities Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

It ain't cool,
To select and pick enemies.
Wherever one goes.
And proving with excuses,
A doing done...
With a turned up nose.
Oh no.
This ain't cool.

It ain't cool,
Creating diseases.
To lay the blame then claim,
A cure has been found.
Labelled to give it,
Some difficult to pronounce...
A made up exotic name.
This ain't cool to do.

Eventually a pudding to whip,
Will open all eyes to see...
Just who had intended,
To exercise a right...
To poison minds.
affecting eyesights.

And those masters of deceit,
Revealed from under disguises.
Believed kept discreet.
Will find themselves,
Without defense.
When pigeons among them,
Begin to squeak.
Sitting in prison cells.
Defying lies told and dieing...
From their own radioactive,
Activities.
Innocently to declare,
They've been the victims...
Of a misunderstood strategy.
Ultimately left unfinished.
Since they've been,
Wrongly accused...
As the true enemies of peace!