a national sport

a pain
no gain
stood in a queue in the rain
waiting to complain
seems insane
but a common refrain
again and again

no truth
at the voting booth
disillusioned age
and angry youth
two sides of a page
stuck in a kind of truce

we do things a little different
not so much bluster
it simmers and burns
a people learns
and slowly the world turns
and a man reckons the karma he earns

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