S ipping cognac through a crystal straw
A fter a seventeen-course banquet
T hat could have fed
E very person in his home village for a month, our Glorious Leader
D id at least show his appreciation with a burp.
This poem is definitely not about Fidel Castro, who showed much more concern for the welfare of his people than that. If anything it’s a reminder of the corrupt dictators who used to run South America long before equality became an issue there.
I wrote the poem in response to the Daily Prompt Sated. It’s an apt word to end my little acrostic series, which is becoming a bit of a duck-shoot. Time to get on with something more challenging, I reckon, so for my next post I will be entering Plato’s gloomy old cave …
A crostic poems in
T hree days is more than
D on’t you think?