The Pitiless

The man who has no pity is a man 
so full of shit
when he opens his mouth it comes out:
every word a turd
presented with a hint of menace 
and effuse self-praise…
as convincing as dew on the lawn
when it’s autumn’s frost:
the undeniable forecast of ice 
and the winter’s costs.
 
Observed is a lack of self,
need to impress, but not a hint of trust, 
so that what is seen
is a sheen of self-pity and pride… 
trying-too-hard to be a hero,
but lacking grace
and we know he sorely needs it.
It’s such an embarrassing act.
It cannot last long.
Already, he is showing fear.

He prefers to be somewhere less public:
looking in a mirror, for example.
There adoration reigns
and he can enjoy his own farts 
without compunction.
The mirror is where he’s at home
and may hone his act to his taste.
He loves his face 
and practices his mighty frown
while delivering his nightly tweets.

These are the sweets he enjoys: 
self-enamored clown
ugly as ever they come, 
full of threats and fear
who has no love but himself,
so is too tightly wound, 
the world awaits the moment the spring will break:
and break it will, 
never having been very strong.
It will not be long.