The Junta

The Junta

The Junta

Wobbles in
on stiletto heels. Rings in
with an ox for the soup. Is in
the captain’s closet & won’t come out
to lift its leg. Is
a domicile privy
to grunts. Adorns its chest
with ca-ca. All speed
to its advocates who roll
in fat. Must spank
father first, who
knew best. Mother
can wait. Accepts milk
from a surrogate only. Knows nothing
of beads but their telling. Its ball
at odds with cheering. Its catch
too close for comfort. Its plug
at the mercy of aviation. Is fraternal
to the core. Is greased
for a pole that scrawls
a nom de guerre. Its tongue
by more than half is never
exceeded. Notice how exquisite
they are, its manners while it eats
its words.