Gandhi in the Mirror

A fun house Gandhi stares at me as I dress. He's gaunt
And brown, bespectacled. He's grown a beard. I'm not
Sure why, but his asceticism seems sincere, though this
Guy looking back, I know, has got a vodka cocktail
Waiting for him just outside. A sacrament, I tell himself;
The Raj is done. The countries it became are dreadful
And corrupt. What can a gnarled savior do? I say we
Drink! I wink at Gandhi. It's not as if those you had
Rescued subsequently did a thing to maintain your respect.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2024-06-17 at 01:20

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HA! Hillarious