Bad apples, bad barrels,
Authoritarians
And milquetoast conformists—
If species-specific—
Seem to come leavened
With yeasty resisters,
Although the resisters
Seem always outnumbered,
So that all viciousness
Resembles tournaments
Of seeded opponents—
Some upsets, mostly chalk.
What a horrific thought—
That here’s a recipe
Baked in societies,
Always some brutalists,
Some conformists, some moles
Who tunnel No Man’s Land,
And a few resisters.
Find us a history
Absent this chemistry.
Meanwhile, the quietest
Quietists, the hermits
Hide, knowing they’d be dragged
Into the square and flogged,
If not executed,
By any team that won.
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