by Ed Shacklee
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Photoshopped image by Freelancer at DemocraticUnderground.com.
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Times were hard -- the fearful crowd, unruly,
felt they'd become a television serial
whose laughter track embarrassed them unduly;
they longed for prose both purple and imperial.
The promises the idol strung together
were catchy nonsense jingles if they'd listened.
Its hide, so thin, was stitched from shopworn leather.
A fool could tell it wasn't gold, but glistened;
but they were sold, for God was dead or missing --
the brazen moos would answer every prayer.
What did it matter what the snake was hissing?
The Trojan Horse was none of their affair.
Ed Shacklee is a public defender who represents young people in the District of Columbia. He is working on a bestiary.
