One Whipped Mother

Republican Erotica

On His Paper Pillow

Fires rage beneath his lids, smoke of billowing red
And white
With souls purged, cleansed
By his self-appointed ministry
The screams of thousands evaporate into the blue
Vanquished by righteous indignation
He smiles against his paper pillow
Buries his conscience deep, deep
Within its soft, green American weave
He smiles and rolls toward his wife
She of the milk-fed exterior and
Careful poise
Lies open-eyed as he puts his hand
Over her heart
As the screams of thousands
Millions
Echo, spin, thrash
Against impenetrable walls of gold


--L. Lynn Young

posted by Ms. Lori @ 1:45 PM