Bird Flu - a poem of sorts

BIRD FLU

Please be fair and please don't stare.
And don't be square. There's hair down there.

I had to go for Burroughs, Beckett or Beuys.
Given half a choice, I'd go for Joyce.

The old man walks like a faggot walks.
He still talks the talk but he can't walk the walk.

I'm the man in black until things get brighter.
Bring me the head of a singer-songwriter

Too many people, too many chickens.
Asian flu. The world sickens.

I'm going with a gal with grey hair.
People stop and stare but I don't really care..

Too many people, too many chickens.
Asian flu. Don't know what to do.