There was an ol' lady who lived in a shoe, had so many bold  Angry  covetous sorts to live

wit she din’t know what to do  So she tied ‘er shoelace into a bow and hunkered inside, all

Racked with woe, as the ol’ Salts retired on the weak public purse, sent people to steeples

And even much worse    Like cages   and pages in medical journals that line hospital urinals

An about-face is what she’d be shoutin’ about if only she could wrap ‘round the lowdown

Nitty-gritty shifty committee    that sendoff disdain   with star-spangled & permanent stains

Gray smoke in ‘er flue, a pint & a cup, brown leaves in a pipe--a balk is enough; ‘bout all

She could do to keep from fucking it all off..makin’er own call …& outside her door they

few organize shoutin’matches so damned awe-implied n skilled at twistin’the truth n baitin’

wit lies   And making the people lie down in Soylent Green pastures    In shadows of what

once was n what could’ve been; Staid puritan for maelstrom and Count on closed factories

Like when Al Jr.’s votes were sullied under duress by slanted sequesters & coercion pacts

Still there in ‘er shoe is where she’ll wait, thanks Meals on Wheels for delivery-food plates

prays to God above who heeds all this sorrow: Ready.Waiting. Do come drain your bowels

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[OH don’t let my Love be damaged at the Quantum level! —what sort of being would ensue such a thing?]