Littlefield: Anyone But Papi

The best among us? Crooks and frauds.
The weatherman's a liar.
The ministers mislead their flocks,
The celibate's the sire
Of tribes of hungry children.
The mechanic with my car
Has taken out the parts that work,
And sold them, near and far.
The actress is a construct
Of the plastic surgeon's art,
The philanthropic businessman
Who seemed to have a heart
Has stolen with both hands
And left the orphans hungry still...
The friendly merchant down the street
Has both hands in the till.

And we could live with all of that.
We wouldn't care at all
If Papi, whom we'd thought heroic,
Hadn't had to fall.