By Richard Mather
A man from the party follows me home,
calls me names. He wants to punish me
for wearing a neoconservative t-shirt.
Inside my apartment he is there hovering
in a red ‘n’ black light. I go out he is there
smashing up a revisionist bus shelter.
That thing he does with his personalized copy
of The Protocols is sinister. When I complain
his wife says I must be 666, a Zionist pig.
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