Exasperation, by Tom Mukasa



Exasperation
          
You said you would help,
How we looked forward,
In your private quarters,
Insipid indolence indulged,
Cracked dam! Waters no longer held.
           
Teach morals of a whore,
You have manners of a dance-master,
You dole out bread crumbs,
Flattery, intrigue are your weapons,
For attire, indeed you are a pinafore.
          
Envious machinations you are good at,
You claim harvests where you sowed not,
It is not your latissimus dorsi in pain,
Alas! You slither in vain,
Your myopic tendencies! Your only art.
       
You pointed out the way,
Paths beaten by others,
Your verbosity and sidling acts,
A worm warming the innards,
soon to be wished away!

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