I Mourn All The Shotgun-Dead Ducks

I mourn all the shotgun-dead ducks

Pond-gone, now less shade than sorrow,

The spotlit movement on the bad-luck

Border: brown-skinned swarms on-the-go

Scaring the demo out of democrats

Gringoed from gradeschool to trim the fat,

Dress the meat, and never take any shit—

It’s victory to the vipers in this snake-pit!

Only kissable necks and a sandy beach will do

For my grieving—O sensible superglue

Joining the world to my oyster

Of touch and taste I’d never cloister

For a pearl. I have a few good seasons yet
To reverse what made my feathers wet.