Poetry by Richard C. Hayner

Holocaust

Oh, how I pity the Lunar Lady.
No longer a virgin is she.
Soon to expect illegitimate child
Which grows more out of hand with each day.

Oh, Dog of Fear, don't scratch your fleas.
For polluting our seas
From shallow to deep,
You'll soon be put fast to sleep.

Travel, Mister Magic Man,
Always moving west,
Selling out to the outlaws,
Buying out the rest.

The crowds moved to the mountain
To get away from it all,
Only to find the other crowds.
They couldn't help but fall.

Richard C. Hayner
1970 ©

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