Corn In Our Currency Poem by George Samuel

Colonial paper has torn!
With a hole for bedbugs to hide,
Everywhere, prisoners eating infested corn,
In jailhouse where grandfather decide,
At gunpoint, they eat and burn..


Grandfather in fierce masquerade,
Terrifying his offspring through dreams,
They're horrified and slump in parade,
Like skinny soldier ants lost in the stream,
Dying everyday by the grenade..

Destroyed, yet grandfather can't listen,
Again, his children unwanted souls,
Because he's drunk in champagne,
Popping in his head, heart and toes,
Causing him syagger during campaign.

No voice again for the poor,
Sold to grandfather merchant of the land,
Exchange for tickets to beer parlor,
And free nights stand,
Where only grandfather keeps the doors..

Who can help us from grandfather,
The oldest and very cruel,
Now we lost the voice of grandmother,
Who's rejoicing for the price of fuel,
Grandfather think of your granddaughters..