The Return of the Animal Farm
Inspired by a family that lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma,
Chapter 2 Part 2
The sacrifice of the cow Lois and the ravaging of Farmer Joe's plot was far from subliminal. Napoleon Jr. the king of the pigs wants us all dead such as his namesake. Sparky and Louise, Angelique, Chris, with Marty so dear were nothing more than unwitting accomplices. Without a devil to oppose him we are all doomed. He's whetting his lips while burning our homes, families, all. One believes in themselves as does the other side, shall there be a third way? Farmer John's Ranch lay due to the west, a bigger land, a more true test. Napoleon cried out after defacing the earth, "I'm a king since I was birthed!" Without a grim face we know to blow him away, but will we mistake this upright swine for perhaps more? True courage requires discerning traits, and killing the pigs of the world is a true test of faith. He hates, us he does, so whatever happen to God whom we trust? Has he gone silent, turning on us, too, or nothing more than a mere vicar, throwing us to the wolves?
Sparky laughed, mocking the dead farmers, "Now I am truly more cunning than them!" A good call for the corpse but a bad one for the vengeful soul. Be careful when your wishes are granted by genies, for foreign powers warn they are djinns. Ones who seek their fun at other expense get what they want, a wish granted that kills us all. While we dance with glee at a ball, see our hearts and minds will fall. When a body drops we are left with just a name, scribbled upon a stone aside a forgotten tomb. Really, now, are we finally doomed? Hearts are sealed upon the devil's tail, this one curled. Hitler and the likes still reign, should we hope their stay does wane. Coiled like a serpent, his back end fired, a fuming stench inspired by spoiled calorie-filled treats. You mock Halloween, blasted swine, each Saints' Day a dishonor.
Our patron of tyranny and his crew slept til night ensued. A lone truck with a flatbed fit only Napoleon and Louise in the front, their four minions armed to the teeth in the back. Should they acquire artillery Napoleon should do the cowardly. He drove fast and crooked down the highway, reaching a midway point along the stretch, abandoned, where they wished to fill it with the farmers' death. Plenty of slop of meat and treats did Ma pig and child boar pack, and throughout the day it did last. Napoleon needed a solid plan, him knowing he built upon rocky land. A soiled graveyard of heart he doth possess, when he scourges the world shall none be left? An eagle lacks the tears, where heartless men flourish, above she soars. This was enough to make me regurgitate like an owl, but waste through the beak I do not like. Hooked talons can save me from snakes, but bacon dragons they will nigh, if I choose to fight him die I will try. Flight takes me far away, solitude provides a haven. I envy that crane, for he knows pleasure in his grace. Can any religious belief still provide that place? Chapels like monuments, dead walking stiffs for masses. Sundays are soulless, the true story of most Oklahoma and Texas. A farmer is our last bastion of hope, shall they all be dead, our ship won't stay afloat. Agriculture is the heartland, not deceitful serpents with forked tongues, ones inside temples. Is that a shot or an ampule? What is the disease without a cure, and what is that needle full of fear? A laden instrument full of death, that will outlast the threat.
We will understand our sins with unity, division destroys. Napoleon's ideals are lethal and fatal, much worse than a snake's rattle. Run now while you can, or choose to stand and fight. If you are welcomed in death, you'll gain in spite. What is a respite if we must die? What choice do we have? Neither is the wise, with evasion we can hide. Places to shield us in the wilderness, nature as our nurturer, a true mother. That's all we can do, or fall upon Napoleon's gauntlet, like an impaling pike. Who cares of what we desire, when the other cauldron is full of fire?
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