A PILE OF MUZZLE
Men like that belong in a heap,
belong in a pile of muzzle. They
come cheap. Tall hats for little
heads, maybe it used to be, but
no more. The hats are gone and
the heads are all the same.
-
El Presidente is at the microphone.
Madame Chorelady is listening in.
Behind them both stretch a hundred
other wasted faces : The diseases too
are all the same, just like the noses
and chins. A garbage pail syndrome
you can drop junk in.
-
I want to leave here, but before I do
there is one thing to say to you, all.
That festered dungheap, you call
home? Some others have taken it
away from you and you haven't
even noticed that. Why should I
worry of the size of your hat?
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