heads of state who ride and wrangle,
who look at your face from more than one angle,
can cut you from their bloated budgets
like sharpened knives through chicken mcNuggets.
now nimble fingers that dance on numbers
will eat your children and steal your thunder,
[things to do before i die: cake on sunday(!)]
while heavy torsos that heave and hurl
who crunch like nuts in the mouths of squirrels.
now simple feet that flicker like fire
and burn like candles in smoky spires
do more to turn my joy to sadness
than somber thoughts of burning planets.