Day of the Last Laugh

A new day yawns.
Sleepless nights aplenty.

Dead branch
Famished vulture squats
Grazing for rotting flesh.

To the day’s toils
A million legs scurry
Without a stare
The young blemish
Frozen alive by the blight
Half way to the loo swept.

Yes, tomorrow,
This twig sneaks into
Well oiled flesh
To drill for barrels of pus.

And the land screams for
That will never be
Yes, yesterday
We walked by
A coiled gun powder
Not fit for a vulture’s meal
Without a care.

Soon, the day of the last laugh will come
To sting our scrotums
Without a care.

About author
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, Newspackng.
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