A Letter To Elmer Fudd Concerning The State Of The Union Poem by Del Awaredestroy

Give us your scabbed
your tiny and stabbed
and pleasurably ribbed to rub.

leave us your soiled
aluminum foiled and spoiled
gone out for food for grub.

we're not asking much
just attention and such
sick of the constant snub.

you weren't the chosen
unless it's a coven
a title with which to dub.

the last guy here seemed
to stay on the same seams
he also made tapestry rugs

but he wore the color
of a southern type feller
though shorter, more like a shrub.

you were to be changing
the seasons and some things
that had most of us bugged

but the other half halted
to deny what you wanted
and now we are all home on drugs.

so lend down a hand
or an ear (or a $grand)
for fear only pretends to hug-

we may not look neat like you
don't mean we are fools
or maybe... it precisely does?

well, better a fool
than a government mule
one of us sleeps soundly, snug.

like a bug in a rug
after hot chocolate in mugs
or a lab dog named Doug
who at times is quite smug
and earlier dug
a hole with a jug
of some corn whiskey type drug
jar covered in mud
and now, Elmer Fudd...
now...
we are quite... drunk...