Poetry

Flying The Flag Won’t Prime The Pump

I know you’re thirsting
parched by this pervasive
bone dry by all this evasive
dehydrated by the disease

But waving the flag
Ain’t primin’ the pump
turning the tide
or cloudburstin’ this contagion

Damn,- it ain’t even,
pissin’ into the wind


NaPoWriMo April 2020


Published by r.douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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