Frog of the Junta

It’s cold being greedy, isn’t it?
You chose your goals,
Achieved them,
Leaving destruction on the way;
Your advantage is their loss,
And their loss puts them beneath you.
Please! Just stay!
Thank you.
(No, don’t talk to me like that -
I might bite back.)
Tell me now, how did you achieve it?
You played sharp and loose, and lied,
Chose a set of rules in which compassion died,
Then played your life within those lies,
Which justified being a shit.
The smart suits, the fast cars, the arrogance all followed,
Your eyes wantonly blind to the world;
Slowly you built up an edifice of wealth around you,
Surrounded yourself with drones,
Let your world-view set like stone until completely true.
Chuff!
You have no more self-awareness than a frog with gaping eyes
Leaping from one chill patch of greed to another,
And yet – here’s the strange thing -
You think your banknotes give you insight.

I hear you organised a coup
One night.

Took over the T.V. station,
Swallowed money from the Great Satan,
Stamped on the crowds,
Spat bullets through your teeth at innocents;
Now, blinking in the camera lights,
Surrounded by other frogs,
You proclaim martial law
And shoot at ‘dogs.’
There.
Your money’s safe now,
You and the elite,
Controlling the airwaves,
Shouting out your twisted morality,
Proclaiming your grand vision of things and your fear and hate.
Go then, go!
Waddle off in your finery,
Suck the blood from the country,
It’s your business to ruin the State.