Chicano Poet

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

The Castle

The castle was mortgaged to pay for war,
moat, boat, throat, Rose Garden,
the Queen’s oval orifice, plasticware,

the Marine guard doesn’t flinch when pinched.
The castle has been crumbling
since the bastard king moved in.

Rooms inhuman, cold as Arctic,
pantries full of mold, truth untold,
termites smile when you confront them.

The princesses are whores,
the Queen doesn’t care
as long as they don’t have to go to war.

The castle looks at famous views,
historic sites, parks, the mall where anti-war hippies
and poets once hung out.

The castle offers panoramic vistas of battlegrounds.
And the monuments of war
welcome the newly fallen soldiers without much emotion.


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