Poem a Day 12

Today’s prompt: A silly poem. Ah, but aren’t they all?

The Last Sixty Seconds of My Friend’s Hour-Long Rant about People He Doesn’t Like

cargo-cult-airplane

I don’t know where this keen picture is from, but I found it here.

 

 

…But worst of all, my friend insists,
Are Cargo Cult Objectivists
Who worry that they should embargo
The spirit planes and spirit cargo,
For what these planes will bring for free
Make parasites of you and me.
And so, confused by what will come,
They chalk on walls Who is John Frum?

 

 

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