Sitting upon a gaudy throne
sipping on a manufactured bubbly
he rested indulgent digits near a clownish chest.
Drooling with the greed of a cruel magnate
he envisioned the great West in a sea of oil
steel phalluses protuberances from starving soils
Ancient pyramids made of vinyl
a stucco Sphinx reclining across the deep ravine
the creature of play-do and oozing waste spewed a belch.
Children cried on the edge of the canyon
their eyes burning with the acidic promises
made to inhabitants of distant glass rises.
Watching from the failing seat he contemplated
joyful in an ocean of his innumerable crimes
while those who made him an idol decayed at his delighted fungus toes.
It has been what used to be called centuries
no one here can remember the end
at the hands of the illustrious monster.
Hot air buffoon
They flew his effigy at the yearly parades
so many days without names
midweek late summer perhaps even Christmas.
High above in the poisonous clouds he exhaled
latex animal in an obese loin
never had such a hideous paradox been seen.
No one’s uncle for a gentle embrace
no bust to be found high in granite
just a mass of noxious gasses lost in dark space.
She wonders why the bed was so icy
when the soulless mass collapses for the night
fed with conspiracy his only sustenance.
A name remains carved in soft matter
temptation of another abandoned hyena
but she too trots away in disdain with a cry.
The mockery of all things created at last finished
pieces of the deflated ego in faded memories
barely subsist transported to the earth’s sewers on the bile of the masses.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.