☀ Today's Poem: "The Dictators and the Guerrilla Boy: a Fable" Soleil David

Ferdinand and Imelda were desolate
in their empty palace. Ferdinand had run out

of places to stash his gold bars. There’s no room,
they were cramped, Imelda did not have enough

feet to wear all her shoes. So that Sunday
they prayed for a little boy to feed

upon and at the foot of their palace bed
a squash grew and grew and Ferdinand thought,

Finally, more room for my gold bars,
and Imelda thought, Finally, more room

for my shoes. So they took out
a bolo, first admiring its ivory handle,

inlaid with mother of pearl, but before
they could carve out an opening

to their new storage space, a Guerrilla Boy came
out and demanded a bath. Imelda had just

the silver basin for the occasion. And as water
ran off the Guerrilla Boy, the droplets turned

into gold and what would happen
if this Boy were to marinate

in their Olympic-sized swimming pool,
why it would end our poverty, so they threw

the Guerrilla Boy into the water, which ran
gold and sometimes silver, sometimes

rubies, sometimes the bluest sapphire,
even a long-lost Monet painting,

and they loved this Guerrilla Boy so,
wept loud at his endless drowning.