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Digging Pablo


by sean m. poole


They're exhuming Pablo Neruda

To put his old bones to the test

Determine if he was murdered

At the Capitalists' request.


They're exhuming Pablo Neruda

To examine his bones ‘neath a scope

And see if the poet was poisoned

Like John Paul the First the Pope.

 

They're exhuming Pablo Neruda

The poet of love and despair and

Ode to the onion and songs of devotion

To the woman with wild red hair.

 

They're exhuming Pablo Neruda

There's no rest for the weary it seems

From the prying forensic fingers

Of the world that choked out his dreams.

 

They're exhuming Pablo Neruda

On the same day that Dame Thatcher died

I cheered for the death of that hateful bitch

But for Pablo, the lover, I cried.

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