Dumpster Diving for Your Love – Canto IX
In Redding’s clime, bad ideas entwine
John Johnson, now hailed as QANON’s bright dawn.
His youthful zeal, naïveté online,
Stood before them, a figure to adorn.
In Harley P. Wasserbunger’s garage, a shrine,
Where Q’s futures are sworn over worn.
John, amidst this fervor, considers his place,
His stature rising, peach fuzz on his face.
Morgan Wasserbunger, she of mid-age might,
Harley’s sister, with eyes though blacklit,
Beheld John Johnson and her loins did alight,
With desires that soared in groin-burning fits.
Forty-eight years last week, her desires burn bright
For John, her raw passions weren’t slight.
In meetings and whispers, her favor he caught.
Then a promotion in rank, lustfully wrought.
Yet amidst the accolades and Morgan’s gaze,
John’s thought of the child from Moscow he stole.
Her safety, her future, in these tumultuous days,
Became his concern and what debts still untold.
For Q’s grand claims, their convoluted maze,
Left him pondering if he had been rick-rolled
By the allure of power, and a leader’s affection,
Or if his path was following his intended direction.
In Q’s dark garage, where foul plots did brew,
John navigated his new, uncertain role.
Morgan’s interest, like wet morning dew,
Awaited and challenged his wandering soul.
Was he a hero, bold and true,
Or a pawn in a game, some bumbling troll?
The seeds of doubt spread root in his moral soil,
As he pondered the claims that bring Q to boil.
With Morgan’s vigor and steadfast lustful chase,
John found himself trapped in a tangled net.
Her advances, innuendos, and fervent embrace,
Could not still in his heart this growing fret.
The little girl’s image, her innocent face,
As she pointed out her parents, the neglect
Of Q’s grand vision, and his part within,
Complicit and ethics gone mad in the din.
Thus stood John Johnson, under cloud-covered sky,
A figure torn ‘twixt desire and doubt.
Associated with Q, but not a bad guy
Just young and unable to figure it out.
Morgan’s desires screaming for him to comply
But the child’s wellbeing compels like a silent shout.
In this game of power played by false birthrights,
John pondered his move, from right to right.