Shamed Cop

Sainted thief

Salute!

Thieving saint

Decorated.

When a palm frond made for shade

Is burnt to ashes,

Not even skeletons can mask his beauty.

When a parliament gives you an award,

Be certain of a visit from ant-infested woods.

When a Cardinal fresh from conclave,

Frolics in hideous huts,

Broken kernels will adorn his neck.

What sort of medal was he expecting?

Like David's who slew tens of thousands?

You became transfixed in soured grapes -

Fresh from hallowed chambers,

All in shades of intent.

Corrupted by the palm wine they gave you:

High and tipsy in your jubilation of robbery;

A dreaded hunter shadowed to a dingy cell.

In torrents of shame

Prancing about on

Rancid banana peels

Greed has coloured the medal

Adorning your shadow's neck,

Like a canvas

In mixture of blood

Of victims' pains.

I wonder what runs through your mind

In the chambers of prison.