Plunger Decree

3:29 a.m. paranoia
twitchy eyes
furtively dart across the words
finger flipping franticly
images scroll rapidly past
on high alert
making mental note
a list of traitors
scanning bloodshot dry
seeking signs of treason
as the minutes
of the bowel obstruction
tick by
septuagenarian legs sleep
numbly
elderly circulatory system
in hard decline
crying out for the nurse
to help him stand
needles in feet driving deep
as dampened silk
collects the excremental residue
from the asshole
braced against the basin
feeling seeps back
creepingly returns
unsteadily back to bed he dodders
unrelieved
his tiny fingers fumble
around the Android screen
typing angry
as if
by their own volition
beyond his never more than meager
control
his short pudgy digit
stabs down
as if
from Hell’s heart
a missile or a missive
it’s all the same
as long as everyone knows
who is overrated
who is a loser
who is an enemy
it brings to him
this unloading of petulant wrath
a small satisfaction
one that he could not attain
a top his gilded commode
the one suitable throne
for the little shit king

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