O, pederast
how another culture’s structure can lambast you,
and how,
by that which we are governed
contains us
and is
contained within.
It’s enough
to make me sick.
But why goad me
afterward
also?
Have you ever thought,
been inclined
to think?
This world could’ve be
anything,
can be
anything, but won’t:
the reins’ pulled
too taut.
Earth as our Daddy,
we the Baby,
being led
round and round,
then up
the garden path.