Raree Show

He was boxed up and made retro;
regressed to a phallic nightmare
and ingratiated to those of his kind,
without even a whisper of due care.
Attention waned and tempers
frayed to a threadbare nuance
of disdain. “I’m just a man!”
He would cry, without a drop of influence.
Rot was thrown to build up matter
and dethrone the bulging banners
that billowed, to a beat each of us
tapped in frustration, without manners.
Regretfully his reign was deep
and hordes lined up to surround his keep
and bang a drum to raise the moon
for in this cold, barren place he is the womb.