Fidel Castro

You came to us an unhorsed grandee
A cool breeze under Cancer
And we believed you
Now the skids of your ambition
Are greased with fear
While our machetes bleed canestalks
You go on rolling your
Foul sustenance before you
Like an African dung beetle

Force and fiesta are your charisma
Pimping pride to peons
Cultivating fallow whores
Nor can you conceive
That your butterflies of conquest
Are impotent under glass

But give me your wretched hand
My brother of the cherished soil
I who loved you with
Unashamed perversity
Will show the way
And cleanse the soil once more
On the shining edge of my machete.

(A/n: Younger readers may be unaware that at first Castro hid his true nature under an idealistic pretense that he intended to establish real democracy and justice in Cuba. Now it appears that he may crown his deceit with the ultimate atrocity of dying naturally.)