Flightless

MAGAhat

MAGA maggots like magnets
glued to a rotting orange
shriveling in rays of truth
refuse to leave the refuse
of dwindling fuel for squirming
vermin, to dull to pupate
by option to navigate
to some other fallen fruit.
No. These potential blowflies
must dry in stench of this husk,
an inch from where the eggs hatched:
flightless—the fate of this batch.

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