Partisan Musth

They trumpet and rage and gnash their teeth, 
and wildly thrash their trunks,

these once peaceable behemoths, 
now busy hurling their bulks about 
like wrecking balls crashing through the tent pole forests,

threatening to pull the big top down with their tusks. 
In the past, mad pachyderms were shot at once,

decreed too dangerous to perform their tasks.

But now we cower before these fake Ganeshas 
who tower over us. We are afraid of being trod upon; 
we, their mousy steeds, their Mooshikas,

who have carried them this far, only to be crushed

in a fit of pique incomprehensible

to creatures more emotionally stable, more sensible.

We should consider doing what they do in India,

where elephants are still considered useful,

and tie them up and let them starve 
for several days until the fever passes.

Next election, consider risking the kicks 
and stand behind the asses.