You, campaign for them
spend time, money and
energy to sell them to others
defy logical arguments to win votes,
bear the brunt of waiting endlessly,
under very unfriendly weather conditions
to thumbprint, to bequeath them power.
They promise to better your lot,
swore by their mother’s graves and
vowed to offer their blood to vampires
if they fail in their pact, but
once you deliver, they retract,
false on truth, grand in deceit
they become demigods demanding worship.
They start every plenary with a prayer
tell lies throughout, end with a prayer and
enjoy the booty of public office without a hoot.
But, when the ever prompt four-year cycle
and campaign ephemera tickling like clock dawn;
they come running by, they remember you.
You’re a fool, you’re an idiot; you’re doomed (maybe).
Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | spilledwoords.org | 2020