Dupes

Whoever begins by being a dupe ends by becoming a scoundrel. —Voltaire ____________________________________________________

The populist sings a song that allures the selfish,

ear-wormish strains of selfish self-satisfaction.

To a selfish miser he offers unlimited wealth,

to a selfish racist, the dream of mass deportation

and intimations of legal white supremacy.

He sells bastardized bibles to selfish parochials

and hints at special protections for their sect.

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Selfish people would have to be lashed to a mast

like Odysseus sailing past the isle of Sirens

to listen to such seductions and not be enthralled.

And masts today are in very short supply:

all of them have been felled by social media.

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So the selfish legions swell like festering lesions

on the backside of the body politic,

infectious viral agents lured to the spots

by the blandishments of a snake-oil hawker and fraudster

distilling their selfish desires for his selfish ends.

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Dupes at the start, enslaved by selfish urges,

they end as scoundrels, abetting their own damnation.