Tuesday, December 6

The Boss Bus Driver

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The boss is the driver Of the bus without brakes With little understanding of traffic rules And no idea, whatsoever, about GPS

With no spare parts and extra fuel In a straight line, at a breakneck speed He drives down the road to perdition Which spike strips can only accelerate Onboard with him are freeloaders, Quintessential political rectums; cheering Whom the best they can espouse is shit And when the spikes tear into the tires And the shreds hit the shit, and specks fly Without hesitation, they will take to the windows—Leaving the boss, lonesome, as the bus barrels on— For self-reinvention is best achieved stainless.

Indeed, it is on the altar of opportunism That a political animal is best sacrificed.

By Maa Touray