CHIEF CHOCKER

In the dark night light.
Before a peaceful bright sleep.
The chief chocker arises.
With a gadget on his site side.
He takes out his shot gun.
Oh Chief Chocker!
Master to the army of hands !
It’s time he crys a creamery.
His hands are sweaty.
His heart is thumping.
His sheets are waiting.
Chief Chocker!
His engine starts. No brakes. Soft unguent.
Like a system he delivers.
Like immortality he governs.
Chock after chock. Grip by grip.
Infant killer. Chief monkey torturer.
In a blue moon, packets from his creamery.
His craft is perfected.
He is the Chief Chocker! His shotgun is his.