Well done, Dr Satan
Bound and gagged
by academic protocol,
the Faculty is forced to watch
while Satan graduates
as Doctor of Philosophy,
delivers his oration
in a cultivated Texas drawl,
his cloven hooves incongruous
in cut-price cowboy boots
from K-mart.
How persuasively he speaks of God,
of freedom and democracy –
the ballot box
that bites the fingers
as one's paltry vote is cast.
He lectures, too, on Reverence for Life,
his twitching hands
an inch above imaginary Colts.
Then 'Bang!' he says.
And smirks: 'You're dead.'
Unlike Other Boys ©2009, Alan Ireland, http://poetry.2hell.com | Index | Next poem
