Weekly poem on Trump Presidency



The Good Old Days Together

after Rebecca Wadlinger

This morning, I’m thinking about bananas.
To wit: my country has gone bananas.
Also, bananas are on the shortlist
of Things That Will Be Extinct Soon,
and my country is a lot like a banana
in that sense.  
What do you do when you know
no one is listening? |
Sing louder, or hum gently
to yourself?
         Outside, it’s raining. The cars
make shirring sounds when they pass,
and the bus emits a tinny whine.
Up North, the polar bears
drag hollowed bellies through the mud
while harp seals escape to Portland
and sun their backsides on the wharf.
In California, the rain brings out the poppies,
a useful development for those of us
who would like to forget that rain
means also death, means encampment
swept away, a mudslide
and shifting coast highway.
     We’re too far gone to care.
Let’s just eat the damn banana.
Let’s crack the last of the coveted vintage
and toast the good old days together, before
the ice shelf broke up, before the last bear
gave birth to the last of its kind, before
poets made peace with the empty seats
and began singing their tales to the trees.


Darby Price's poems have appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, Redivider, Cimarron Review, Zócalo Public Square, and PANK, among others. One of her essays, “A Michael Bay Brain,” will feature in the anthology Far Villages: Welcome Essays for New & Beginner Poets (Black Lawrence Press, June 2019). Darby lives and writes in Southern California. www.darbyprice.com


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