by C.B. Anderson
If all the men who’ve ever plagiarized
were held accountable, and all the women
ill-treated by recycled lies disguised
as truth were issued robe and gavel,
nearly every man would stand, a criminal,
before the Court of his unraveling.
To pilfer words another has composed
deserves contempt, but even more abhorrent,
Her Honor judges, is deceit—case closed.
The sentence: nine-and-thirty lashes
rendered in the mother tongue, a torrent she’ll
deliver swift and unabashedly.
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