They’re rodents, they’re bugs.
They need beatdowns, not love.
They’re less than tragedies –
staged, former pages, rarely newsworthy.
Propped up flops whose merchandise we shouldn’t cop, ingest, or shop.
Daily injustice occurring and they’ve fixed your minds to blare me with your conjuring.
We’ll never get used to it no matter what their puppet masters say.
They’re just psychotics with big and little wallets who’ll never escape judgment day.
by Jerriè McGill
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