along the bar, as though perched
on a wet black bough – not in a crowd but
a dive – on September one, 1939: the fall
of moral decay ‘til 1945.
When a frail man in a tiny broom mustache
ballooned into an Ogre and invaded Poland.
A slouched rough beast moving its slow thighs
over Europe, drivel dripping from its lips.
Dripping propaganda for a new dictatorship
capitalism would embrace, to further
control the human race.
The Ogre’s mask now wears an orange face
groping its way up from the subway station,
exuding a deathly odor.
Breathing the open air, it dons a ball cap
and proclaims a new world order.
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