and I feel like pickled beets, my
hand is shaking the phone as I
brand politicians pesky flies
stand beneath their shallow lies.
“Yes?” I say because I know
less than this restricted foe
guess the motive, much too slow,
gets lots of hang-ups on Joe Blow
like I’ve done two times before.
Psyched to stop this raging war
spike the line, even the score
strike deceit with wild boars,
I plan to march in Washington
cry, “Harassment, everyone!
Why bother me with voices spun?”
Sigh~ then you called, and I was done.
Our Lost Jungle- Poetry Form Challenge #4: LENTO