if hope is a thing with feather

then we have fried it crispy

let its grease run down our fingers

sucked its flesh from the bone

to which we have given to the dogs

who perch themselves on  our feet

worshiping as though we are gods

filling our bellies with desire

 

if hope is a thing with feathers

the colonel has bleached his beard

popeye has given up spinach

for corpulence

while the church turns

corporate off the plate

 

if hope has wings

it doesn’t have a chance

at flying…

 

I needed to put this down somewhere on the fly