Not My Ginger Boys

I want my ginger boys bled,
with ginger-covered blood
flowing like fine wine
from the empty eye socket holes in their heads,
crows perch petulantly on their stiff corpse bones
cawing laments for the dead,
no one thinks the ginger boys should remain alive instead,
they made their beds
i.e. bright fiery orange pubes between their legs
where from such burning bushes rise obelisks of flesh,
pink poles where carrion claws roost with wings spread,
purebred ginger gentlemen
aligned head-to-toe out back in the flowerbed,
their crimson covered scalps hanging near the garden trowels in the tool shed,
drying,
a widespread absence of a freckle-faced race,
I want my ginger boys bled,

those were the words of Sugar Ray Neggin,
that's what he said.

TA