9.03.2018

political sonnet




LAST WORDS
                                  i.m. Alexander Litvinenko

Some Russian in a London hospital
is losing all his hair, can barely speak.
The doctors are confused.  His liquids leak.
It seems he may not make it, after all.
He slumps his ugly body to the wall.
Polonium-210 is quite unique –
this instrument of power at its peak
reduces fractious elements to nil.
And yet a feeble whisper emanates
from dying lips (all victims are pathetic).
You’re a bona fide barbarian,
he croaks (to Mr. Vladimir Putin).
You’ve proved you don’t deserve the trust
of my beloved Russia.  Last words stick.


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