The homo wants to eat my Dad: A poem 

They circled the cerulean skies  

From Antares they came like an encumbering tide 

I only let my feelings hide 

from the spaceship trekking the night 

You can mistake my life’s toil 

You can hijack my midnight oil 

I have seen your waters roil 

my untiring haloed soil 

You can’t promise me the moon 

I’d rather have the wooden spoon 

I feel your toxins in my lungs 

I have no nose for misbegotten tongues 

They can call me, I see what befalls me 

I won’t let the elephant sit with my tea 

The homo has his eyes on my family tree 

He wants to make a meal of my Dad like a leech