The Podunk Hour

It is the podunk hour, that time
which brings forward a burst of rhyme.
As I do every day, I fall into my chair,
in front of the Mac. I think in despair
Dhimmi will send his trash again,
though in despair, I won’t complain.
The day grows old. Today I read,
Dhimmi is defending liberal greed.
His words are where the cold goes to sleep.
When logic is lost, it empties into the garbage heap
that he refers to as his head
something which needs not be said.

It is 2008. Spring.
Upon my desk, the lies sing
out from Dhimmi’s last two emails.
In him the logic fails.
Let me in my final lines
express this as a symbol that undermines
the very excess of his hate-filled diatribes.
The symbol of the swastika that perfectly describes
the modern liberal bought and sold with bribes.