Ode to a Pious Asshole
a free verse poem, by Jenn Howe:
A self-imagined cool-cat of a so-called scene,
frivolous with flattery and favors,
but only for the public praise they might return.
You’re covered in pretension and pet hair.
It’s a naïve congregation that paws at your feet,
oh patron saint of the fleabag phonies.
You and your bilious, laughable psycho-babble,
your pseudo-intellectual pose
with well-placed props to match.
Always and forever something to prove,
popularity the sought-after, pointless prize.
In your hollow head, it’s high school forever.
It’s a non-stop dog and pony show in your asinine sphere,
names dropping like flies about your filthy dinner table.
That antediluvian hole in your face, no wiser for its years,
an inane orifice that never stops – flapping, barking, preaching,
dribbling inept, unbidden advice and criticism.
As if one so unclean could teach others to be pristine.
A coward parading in a flimsy cloak of Piety,
all your witless worshippers won.
You’ve succeeded in fooling everyone – minus one.
I see you for the meretricious moron that you are.
The truth, once revealed, will strip and slay you.
Nothing can shield you now. I am coming for you.
The power and integrity of my words are my mighty hounds.
I have released them, salivating and thundering across the Earth.
The smell of a false prophet being the simplest scent to sniff,
the hunt will be swift and merciless.
They will attack in a frenzy, ready to break the beams and bones of you,
only to find that your back has no spine inside to snap.
An uncomplicated abolition, if ever one existed –
a feeble structure with no substance falls easily.
My righteous beasts will howl with the delight of justice served
as you collapse, disgraced and disregarded.
The end of a paltry, pathetic figure whose purity and preeminence
existed only in his delusional, elitist imagination.