. . . . . from All That Would Ever After Not Be Said . . .
America’s top shitholer goes
whole hog at the public trough,
and never mind the rest of us,
because that is the hog’s nature.
A silly grin when he licks his lips,
a scowl like a lout’s mustache —
the toadstool dick, the hellish
grunts, the squeals, the bogus
outrage of the ring, all are brazen
matches for his silly pompadour.
We crowned him circus king,
our technicolor conman —
we shamed ourselves
enabling such a shameless thing.
‘We crowned him circus king / our technicolor conman’
Is the world so fragile, so weak, so small
that one man can give the finger to it all –
to every Chinese, Arab, Hindu, Jew,
to every Frenchman, African, Hispanic, child,
to every man and woman, family, church and word,
to every animal and butterfly and bird,
to every memory and dream, to truth and fact
as if they were a disappearing act?
Why let him hit history over the wall
as if it was a batting practice ball?
Where is the man who will shove an AR-15 up his ass,
pull the trigger, enjoy the sound,
have a beer, call it a day, and let it pass,
while the monster seeps into the underground?