by Fabiyas M V
More than a psychopath,
this vlogger is the Trojan horse of the drug mafia.
When he sings his obscene lyrics in a hoarse voice,
the inveigled followers applaud.
Their whoops of delight reverberate.
His tongue is a vulgar wave machine.
He stirs the youth, raising his hands
and displaying his chest
(tattooed with an erotic banana).
His blown kisses fall into the female hearts.
The taboo words abound in his latest video.
His lips turn a remote,
turning on lust.
He pours a bowl of boiled rice into his Bermuda shorts:
heat makes him dance Pogo.
He creates lecherous rhythms with his palm.
A million likes and comments embellish this vlog.
The destructive weeds thrive in the cultural void.
Like an errant vulture,
he wings over the decay.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
*Pogo is a dance in which the dancer jumps up and down.