I don’t trust any of their
skylark shower courtship calls
and Teflon altered egos
scratching at the *** like overeager
pups desperate for a squirt
of cream right after you televise
They hide their gluttonous midlines
from us back behind all their covert
lack of evidence and adobe flash
smiles in some kind of secret society
codes they’ve plagiarized and I
doubt they’ve ever even felt
the wind outside in silence

Written by Sara Fielder © June 2015