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!
zip-a-dee-doo-dah-Zumba.

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