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Little Poem # 2

Mummy’s Boy


The enemy stood above him.

Chuckling to one another

Whilst posing for a picture,

As that hunters would,

On a Sunday afternoon.

His body lay immune to death.

Disfigured by justice

And soon a shelter for rats.

Back home,

Mummy now weeps rivers

And daddy drowns in them.


About Black-Eyed Fetus

A literary rebel with a cause.. It's the only good fight there is. "I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam."

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