He can’t deal with a spider
permits it to crawl away
and he won’t listen
to the talk of the day.
He’s no good at fixing things
and can’t swing a hammer
but makes up more rules
than the Code of Hammurabi.
He’s moody as the moon
and his back goes out
monthly when it’s time
to take out the compost.
His idea of sport
is TV from a couch
but he’s too busy
to empty the litter box.
He smokes drinks
goes out with the guys
never fires up the barbecue
and doesn’t like poems –
well, I guess that’s good.
He’s not much under the hood
dribbles on the floor and can’t
get up to answer the door.
His name is Bromide
he’s a politician
a judge and legislator
blames it all on the exec
who tricks the will
of the people
into thinking just
like him.
The Coming of the Toads 