The
heavens are tainted with your signature,
your
speedy snail trail lingering
in
the morning stillness.
The
glorious canvas
becomes
a voting card
for
your polluting illiterate cross,
scrawled
in white.
It
was not my vote;
I
did not agree,
I
gave no permission
for
your intrusion,
you
have stolen my sky.
The
vapour invades
with
insidious, odious
contamination
until
the morning reclaims
its
space.
No comments:
Post a Comment