Weekly poem on Trump Presidency




Emma, the youngest
picked up a porch chair
and two mice dropped out
one dead, one live, then
three generations
of women screamed
“Yuck, finally, finally,”
insisting we throw out
the chairs that had reeked
of urine and mice carcass
for years; and speaking of
stench it’s the stink of racism
that’s rotting these halls; racism
that makes people want to be white
don’t you know?  and as for taking
America back it’s too late
don’t you know? it never was
yours in the first place, you know
with your lies about freedom and
justice and gun rights that only
mean freedom to shoot people
like me with your rancid arms.

Joan Countryman retired in 2005 after a thirty-five year career in independent schools, first as a high school math teacher, later as head of schools for girls. In retirement she turned to writing poems, explaining that poetry, like mathematics, is for her a way of making sense of a world that often made no sense at all.