How was I to know
you were just some avatar,
HTML embedded,
creeping along there

on the dim edges,
the ghetto of my iPad,
hawking Dom like some Don while
sniffing Elmer’s Glue,

re-tweeting real deals,
’cause you’ve got none of your own?
“I’m a business … man!” bullshit.
Sierra Leone.

We get it. You heard the jam,
copped a line and made it your brand.

Sells in small vials,
little viles, small viri
to infect, perfect all who
follow to follow.

The bizarre bazaar.  Yowza!

Dear dead matador,
The carnival crews are happy
to pitch you your own three rings,
where you would hold sway.

Act now, don’t delay.
Cease to decease, one more day.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013