Gadfly – The Delirious Upheaval of a Lost Legion (011)

Table of Content:

• [011.1] Gadfly
• [011.2] Hitman
• [011.3] Sane
• [011.4] Locomotive
• [011.5] Sing
• [011.6] Anoa
• [011.7] Mummy’s Hand

I .Gadfly / Gadfly (011.1)

Gadfly

There exist few things scarier,
than watching your toilet overflow.
Canoes approach the narrow edge,
ships caught in a violent show.

‘Did Xerxes cross the Hellespont twice?‘
‘Should a bowel be taught to sculp?‘
I’m about to learn some scary truths,
when I hear this mighty gulp.

The toilet flushes peaceful again.
Berlin Walz post World War II.
I pant and puke, wash my hands.
Let’s rock this godawful zoo.

Mako The Poet

II. Gadfly / Hitman (011.2)

Hitman

Morning expropriates relaxation,
some sheets and iron to clean.
Whatsapp about a dealer in Bogota,
this other punk I’ve never seen.

Some slick Latin motherfuckers,
balls bigger than the rest of mankind.
I decide its time for the dishes,
play some salsa to leisurely unwind.

I’m paid to clip and dust trash.
No obligations but to kill and fuck.
Swipe my pavement in anticipation,
until a drive-by ends my luck.

Mako The Poet

III. Gadfly / Sane (011.3)

Sane

Fries, Day TV and magazines,
black Lycra dangerously stretched.
Her behind at least two times twenty,
a skippyball sloppily sketched.

One knows a nation is doomed,
when obesity is considered healthy.
Wherever the aging deliberate,
the fat declare themselves wealthy.

A woman’s figure reclining,
used to mean the end of her reign.
To appropriate overweight being sexy,
is like Hitler declaring himself sane.

Mako The Poet

IV. Gadfly / Locomotive (011.4)

Locomotive

I sit at the railway station,
bench and power-bench combine.
Just finished some heavy lifting,
notice my euphoria decline.

I feel like a broken cylinder,
viewed from a race car perspective.
I was never one to go fast,
but rather steady and selective.

When this roaring bison approaches.
A locomotive without a train.
I’m stunned by its raw determination,
as it thunders past my brain.

Mako The Poet

V. Gadfly / Sing (011.5)

Sing

In an era of woke mediocrity,
dukes flaunt their leaks with despair.
Programmers build their fiefdom,
more cameras replace human care.

Jackasses and Jack Daniels,
mutually inclined to rebel.
Those driven to blog and tweet,
use their tits and ass to sell.

Lucky for me I’m a poet,
a reaper applauding rain.
Noise, neon, nonsense… fades,
once you enter my world of pain.

Means of exchange may evolve,
you can always count on one thing.
TikTok, Instagram, Facebook,
pretty girls will dance and sing.

Mako The Poet

VI. Gadfly / Anoa (011.6)

Anoa

You dance with your mouth wide open.
Eyes ecstatic paint a pale blue sky.
Your small breasts sweat an oasis.
Admired by dweebs and dwellers nearby.

Your body graceful and enchanting,
Your eyes flirt with the world undaunted.
You dance and sway and scream and yell,
I suddenly feel somewhat haunted.

Your exuberance makes me angry.
You’re in a place that I cannot reach.
I’m reminded of this old Presbyterian,
who died the day he could no longer preach.

Mako The Poet

VII. Gadfly / Mummy’s hand (011.7)

Mummy’s Hand

“Look mummy,” the little girl exclaims,
she points to a heavy bellied man,
who wrecked himself by the can.
“He’s pregnant of a baby!“

“Look mummy,” her mother slightly flushed.
she points to heavenly clouds,
I feel covered by CO2 – shrouds,
“the sky is wonderfully blue.”

“Look, mummy,” she giggles.
as she points to a funny nerd,
who’s only part of the herd.
“He has a phone like Daddy’s.”

“Mummy, I would like some candy.”
“Please… I’ll be really sweet.”
She looks at her mother loving,
who caves in sullen defeat.

“Mummy,” she munches happily.
“Holly’s brother pinched my arm.”
And I cannot help but smile,
at a young girl’s innocent charm.

Mako The Poet

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