Weekly poem on Trump Presidency



Sometimes we elect the mirror we deserve


When you've owned rivers and mountains
and people, that's a lot to give back
and maybe we don't wanna, maybe we feel white
makes right, that possession's nine tenths
of a good start: I'm just guessing, messing around
with current events. Like why'd we elect
this liar liar pants on fire
president, this fire fire everywhere
and not a drop of think, if we weren't eager
to torch the house we live in?
What's the wound in the white soul
that we covet his piss and sinister, his arson
for the sake of holding the ashes
of democracy in his hands? Is he proof
of ownership, that if he breaks it
we own it and if we own it, na na na na boo boo,
all you more coffee than creamy looking folks
don't? When you own a boat,
you can drown it, a car, zoom it off a cliff,
you can put a tat on your cat or grab a bat
and take your sextant or Cuisinart
apart: up to you and your anger issues,
dude. But this destroying checks-and-balances
to save the village-sized ego
of one man, this kinging a huckster
whose great accomplishment is lying
every chance he gets, starting with
that orange pagoda, I mean
that road-kill comb-over on his head,
only proves one thing: white pride's
the petulance of a child whose toy's
been taken. Plus the power
of life and death.


Bob  Hicok is the author many books of poems. Most recently, Sex & Love &, and Elegy Owed. He is the recipient of a ton of awards including Finalist for The National Book Critics Circle Award for Elegy Owed. He is Professor of Creative Writing/English at Virginia Tech. 


illustration:  anna_croc01

illustration: anna_croc01