Socrates
Was
the first to go.
He
penned pornography,
(Or
so it said
In
the People’s Daily),
Corrupted
the youth,
Asked
too many questions
About
the Great Leap Forward,
Like
why we were burning pots
And
spoons in backyard furnaces.
A
plane crash was engineered
On
the night of his exile,
Authorized
By
the highest levels.
Jesus
Died
a year later.
Marxist
at heart,
Raised
by a generation
Of
peasants, accused
The
village chief
(A
nephew of Premier Li)
Of
money laundering,
And
inflating the corn figures.
Soon,
Red Guards arrived
At
Jesus’ house, waving
Hammers
and torches.
He
jumped into a pond before
They
had time to crucify him.
Buddha
Laughed
too much
And
his belly was bulging.
On
the Thursday parade,
They
shaved his head
On
one side only,
Whipped
him
Until
he cried
And
confessed
His
partiality to motorcycles.
He
was sent to Guangzhou
And
Dalian and everywhere
Officials
visited, to uproot
The
wheat from all the fields,
Only
to gather them
Into
a single acre,
Until
it was so dense
It
looked like the imperial
Carpeting
at Forbidden City.
He
died clutching
An
empty stomach.