104 words by attila written on 2011–05–12, last edit: 2016–08–04, tags: mexico, poetryPrevious post: The Anglosphere and its DiscontentsNext post: Short-term open-source plans

My country is a whore
 and a butcher
 and a beast of burden.

My country is a fire-cracker
 and a hand-grenade
 and a bag of weed as big as your head.

Urchins and street dogs
 hide in cardboard boxes by the side of the road
 hoping her drunken rages will pass them over.

There is no truth in my country
 and there is only truth in my country
There is no hope in my country
 and there is only hope in my country.

Life is raw here -
 no dishes to do that way
 and we only do the dishes
  for someone else.

Copyright © 1999–2017 by attila <attila@stalphonsos.com>. All Rights Reserved.