Shamed Cop

Sainted thief
Salute!
Thieving saint
Decorated.

When a palm frond made for shade
Is burnt to ashes,
Not even skeletons can mask his beauty.

When a parliament gives you an award,
Be certain of a visit from ant-infested woods.

When a Cardinal fresh from conclave,
Frolics in hideous huts,
Broken kernels will adorn his neck.

What sort of medal was he expecting?
Like David's who slew tens of thousands?

You became transfixed in soured grapes -
Fresh from hallowed chambers,
All in shades of intent.

Corrupted by the palm wine they gave you:
High and tipsy in your jubilation of robbery;
A dreaded hunter shadowed to a dingy cell.
In torrents of shame
Prancing about on
Rancid banana peels

Greed has coloured the medal
Adorning your shadow's neck,
Like a canvas
In mixture of blood
Of victims' pains.

I wonder what runs through your mind
In the chambers of prison.