The Gun Fixation

By Lynn Ockersz

Across the restive Isle,

The Gun’s eerie shadow spreads,

While the pledge of ample Bread,

Given three-score and ten years ago,

Recedes further into the distance,

Leaving the ruled with the cold truth,

That they are bound to be in chains,

And that their fights with each other,

Over who is first and most blessed,

Have all been a distraction vain,

Scripted for them by an Iron Fist,

Which has been spiriting away,

The little fat yielded by their hands.