Weekly poem on Trump Presidency
Here is a frog. So it has wings.
It’s a winged frog. So it’s red—
some frogs are. So it’s sitting
in a branch of this elm—so what?
It likes elms. Or it’s a cardinal-frog,
or a cardinal, but what’s the difference,
really? Anyway, check out this elm.
Go on and climb it. Great view.
So it has no leaves, so what? So it has
no branches. So it’s fiberglass
and steel, so what? You’re up there
now, aren’t you? Off in the distance,
see the ocean? Blue as the sky
and full of dolphins. So? An ocean
can be a parking lot. It’s a metaphor,
jesus. And dolphins means shopping carts,
try to keep up. Come down now,
you’ve seen enough. You look nauseous,
you must be hungry—here, have
an apple. Fine, it’s a skull, but listen
to that crunch, and you wouldn’t believe
the phosphorus. Lower your voice,
someone might hear. Just joking,
your voice is a blown dandelion,
and that’s not a metaphor—
look at your protests fuzzing
the metal leaves of the elm. Relax.
Why so hung up on definitions?
Look around. Your dog is a coal mine.
Your bedroom is seven globes
and a Hail Mary. Try to enjoy yourself.
Let’s try a game. Close your eyes,
which are conch shells, and count
to five, which goes silver-Virginia-acrylic-
lemon-moon. Now keep them closed.
Good—you’re finally getting it.
Catherine Pierce is the author of The Tornado Is the World (2016), The Girls of Peculiar (2012), and Famous Last Words (2008), all from Saturnalia Books. Her poems have appeared in The Best American Poetry, Boston Review, Ploughshares, The Southern Review, A Public Space, and elsewhere.