Butler Farm

A poem for our dystopian times.

Butler Farm

Rally just begun

Shots ring out

Unlucky for some.

…

Poum, poum

Candidate down

Quickly men, gather round.

….

Swarming the speaker

The praetorium guard traced the bullet’s trajectory

(Spolier: it didn’t come from the Repository).

…

“Prowler on the roof!”

“Where"?”

“There”

“Hurry, he’s on the hoof!”

…

Grasping the rifle in his cold, dead hand

The shooter collapsed and fell to the ground.

…

Meanwhile, with bloodied ear

And defiant leer

The candidate, face like fury

(framed by Old Glory)

Cried: “Fight! Fight!”

Before posing for his Iwo Jima moment

And vanquishing his opponent.

Afterwards, looking for evidence of a scam

Some said the splatters resembled strawberry jam

Was it a case of Reagan Redux?

Or a cruel Kennedy cosplay?

“Who knew, who knew?”

…

Alas, a photo caught the bullet’s path

And in the aftermath

There could be no doubt.

Besides, what fool

Would risk ridicule

For such a prize?

…

Instead, the candidate called it “God’s will”

Others,vcalled it luck

And, lamenting a plot undone, whispered:

“Why is it only the good who die young?”