Tea Party leaves hang from New Age branches,
Republican turtles swim in ponds teeming with Tory fish.
Maoist ants carry the remnants of an encounter
with Nationalist Front wheat fields,
and small Libertarian puppies growl peevishly
at Basque Separatist Kittens,
who hurtle by on their foggy feet.
Moderate stones lie calmly near Socialist Seas.
(Can we stop this please?)
The New Komeito Party sun begins to set.
(is the metaphor finished yet?)
and I slip into my bed, sleepily grateful that humans
are above such deeply disturbing distinctions.
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