He didn’t shoot anyone on 5th Avenue
as he said he could and not lose a vote,
but he probably thinks he could bring
an AK-14 with an extended clip into the
press room and mow down all the journalists
justifying himself as draining the corrupt
news swamp and sixty-three million American
cultists (a sadly misunderstood and forgotten
lot) would cheer and vow to vote for him in
2020. This guy knows his base even though
he would never consider having such a sadly
forgotten lot to dinner at Sea to Lake or
even over for a Quarter Pounder or an Im-
possible Whopper, which he, the Burger
King if not the American King, thinks
was named after him, “The Stable Genius
Impossible Whopper,” and probably doesn’t
understand why his wife doesn’t refer to
him as such.
If this were a TV drama, it would be fine.
If this were a reality show, it would be benign.
It would be kind of fun to watch the insanity,
except that this is for real and not inanity
but true insanity except that no therapist
has had the chance to interview the
megalomaniac, wannabe totalitarianist.
And so, we are left with a diligent press
to help get us out of this Constitutional mess
in spite of the fact that the wannabe dictator
calls the press fake, false and traitors.
We are in a dangerous situation
and we need to save our nation.
“Are we in last throes?”
He asked me about the earth.
I said, “My last throws
were tossed from the outfield of
First Church’s men’s softball team.”
Our government is to promote the common
welfare as well as provide for the common
defense, but the funding is so out of line
for defense, the welfare is totally sidelined.
Gazillions go to protect us from the boogie-man
but there is hardly any funding to eliminate the scary cancer-man.
And so, so many things have not changed
from the estate of Jefferson’s slaves en-chain-ed
to all the obfuscating of fat, old, white men
who haven’t practiced legitimate law since way back when,
maybe back before the slave stands.
And now fat, old, white men obfuscate again and again
trying to keep the welfare of the country
from being promoted time and time again
from the time of Washington and Jefferson
to our time again and again
and it is now our time to stand against the flimflam man
who couldn’t care less about research to eliminate the scary cancer-man
while he keeps trying to scare us about the boogie-man.
Meanwhile, we go about our daily tasks;
Fearful, anxious, we wear smiling masks.
Everything will be okay in the night?
The wannabe dictator sees only might.
While deep inside he cries
Love me, just me, but in such, the self shrivels and dies.
What went wrong, little boy,
Did someone steal your favorite toy?
Or was it much, much worse —
Upon you, some dark evil well-rehearsed?
And yet, and yet, seeing some of myself as I look in the eye.
Fortunate, but for the grace of God, there go I.
Thank you, Mr. Auden. Yes,
May we, for justice and peace, keep the flame alive.
*in homage to W.H. Auden for September 1, 1939
Every day the boy walked home along railroad tracks from his grade school. He felt the clinkers crunch under his shoes as he stepped over the wood rails. He would glance to see if there were any bullies from school behind him.
Sometimes he would pick up a sharp clinker and toss it being careful not to be cut by a sharp edge. He thought that if there were any bullies he could throw clinkers at them and then outrun them.
Once in a while, he would stop at the coal yard next to the tracks at the corner of 107th St. and say hi to his grandfather who was the custodian at the yard. His grandfather would ask him if he had memorized a Bible verse at the Christian school the boy attended. If he had, his grandfather would give him a dime to buy some candy at the general store across the street from the coal yard. Invariably, the boy would say no but that he saw a fight on the playground during recess. There were always fights on the playground during recess and after school.
His grandfather was also the custodian at First Reformed Church in town and an elder at the first English speaking Reformed Church in town. He would say, “I just bet those kids fighting were Christian Reformed, the little covenant bullies. You stay away from those boys.”
The Christian Reformed Church is a denomination nearly identical to the Reformed Church both being ethnically Dutch. There was always competition between the denominations not unlike that which occurs regularly in families and sometimes grows to the level of an internecine feud.
Then his grandfather would give him a dime anyway. The boy continued his journey home after a stop at the store for a package of Tootsie Rolls.
When he got home, his mother, the daughter of his grandfather, would ask him where the Tootsie Rolls were. He would hand her what was left. “You can have the rest after dinner. I wish your grandfather wouldn’t spoil you by giving you money for candy. Did you memorize a scripture verse today?” “No, but I saw a fight on the playground.” “No doubt Christian Reformed boys.”
The next school year his parents enrolled him in the local public grade school where there were very few if any schoolyard fights.
“They’re writing songs of love
but not for me,” the strings say
as the bow pulls achingly
through my heart along the way.
I am drawn closer, so achingly closer
even as I want to run away.
Now the “a-okay” sign ain’t a-okay at all
unless you’re a White Supremacist and all.
I have to stop and think before making the gesture
or I’ll be stereotyped and, at the very least, given a lecture.
I might want to give the okay sign to a friend
but now such action is sure to offend.
I guess I’ll just give the high-five sign.
Does anyone know if that’s still fine?
Oh, Lord, don’t tell me the White Supremacists
have also co-opted that formerly fine sign.
I’d just keep my hands in my pants,
but someone would be sure to ask
if I’m a perv playing pocket pool perchance?
She had to die to me,
for if she had not died,
which she still is in
the process of doing
I would not be
the person, I
need to be —
not someone selfish,
grasping, seeing only
her with me,
(no one else to see)
that which could
no longer be,
but a lover —
as she was
(as I remember her
mostly to be in her
which lives in me,
and then me
with thee and thee
and all of these
which are in me
and I in these
and I had to
And when I did,
When several Democratic representatives were asked
if the occupant’s behavior were impeachable,
they said that they were weighing the options
and thinking about it
and weighing the options
and thinking about it
and thinking about it
and thinking about it
and weighing the options.
They said that they were thinking about it.
That is what the Democratic leadership
in the House has to say along with a few Democratic senators.
They said that
they were thinking about it
and weighing the options —
to do nothing
except sit on their thumbs and
then (when no one is looking to pull their thumbs from up their butts)
to consider if they needed to do anything about where their thumbs had been
and if they might better be up the butts of their Republican counterparts
which they were willing to consider
because they were weighing the options
while looking at their thumbs.
To such determination and resolve, one can only shout, “Thumbs up!!!”
Did I just hear that Nancy is “full-bore in,” no pun intended? Thumbs, up!!! You, go, girl!!!!