A Sonnet

Whither the zombie health care plan,
Creeping, crawling, shambling, sliding
And forcing our retreat into hiding?
Let us make war while we can.
So much change in such a short time span.
Why must we be racing,
To the disaster we are facing?
No one hears the voice of one man.
There are the grasping dead,
Reaching for our wallets
And braying for our compassion.
Do not be mastered by your dread
And be careful of your bullets...
For theft will always be in fashion.