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Omen and Autocue

The moment they wake up
And the ransom’s paid
From the cup of antithesis,
There’ll be
Arm wrestling, slogans,
A fixed stare
To the evening papers.

Someone said that on Civvy street
The coroner’s couch
Was seen ‘dancing in the dark’
And, there were prayer-shawls,
Coupons, and miscellaneous
Flagstaffs waving
Iron butterflies
As noxious as distemper.

Still, the high definition revolt’s
Too debonair
For the retired post-mistress
- AKA, Job’s wife
Who aims
A sling
- Shot
At the Pearly Gates

And dresses the wound
With salt.