Barmpotocracies
Splendid possibilities there could be
For social progress of humanity,
If only folk didn’t tacitly agree
To preserving their barmpotocracy.
A state with a petite-Fuhrer posing
In a suit, fatigues or clerical garb,
Whose every perfidious word’s a barb,
Hooking those who have the formal choosing,
Making legitimate what’re really crimes,
Seemingly immunised against remorse,
Sole navigator of the nation’s course
Through dark and poisonous political climes.
It can be otherwise, everyone’s got
A choice; ourselves or follow the barmpot.
D. A.