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Big Brother is a bugging me!

A poem by Harold Witkov
web posted June 17, 2013

The losing of my liberty, is greatest of concern,
I'm told it's for my own good, of which I can't discern.
When I took a jet plane, my body they did scan,
My image for the TSA, it was a silly plan.

But if they really cared for me, this is what they'd do:
They'd seal up the border, profile a time or two.
Now I hear they're listening in, and it's not a sin,
Too bad for our great nation, too bad that man did win.

Now dear Lord, please hear my prayer,
For turnabout, is only fair:

Let his life be not his own,
Oh to tap his very phone!
To be a fly on White House wall,
To know if he stands short or tall.

Truth be told, I have my clue,
I know too well, what he's up to.
George Orwell wrote so I could see,
Big Brother is a bugging me! ESR

Harold Witkov is an occasional contributor to Enter Stage Right. © 2013 Harold Witkov

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