Weekly poem on Trump Presidency



Wheel of Fortune

This world contains many worlds.
Why should the law of scarcity reign?
Money is an odd commodity,
a broken palindrome.
I make it, I spend it,
and, like a dumb squirrel,
forget to bury it for winter.
Memory equals intelligence for many species.
Do you know where you hid that bone?
I’m not you and you’re not me.
This may be the origin of consciousness.  
Am I a citizen-consumer or a child of God?
Can you give me a day without pain?
Yours, the face that tanked ships.
Yours, the viable pregnancy.
This post isn't performing well.
The manufacturing sector
has thought of almost everything
except the value of an hour.
Value me, but not before 
a thorough appraisal.
Be the bodyguard who’d shield
my body with your body.
Carry me out of America
draped over your back
like a gunnysack,
and I will gamble away
my one life, for you.


Virginia Konchan is the author of two poetry collections, Any God Will Do (Carnegie Mellon, 2020) and The End of Spectacle (Carnegie Mellon, 2018), a collection of short stories, Anatomical Gift (Noctuary Press, 2017), and three chapbooks, Virginia Konchan's poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, The New Republic, Boston Review, and elsewhere. 





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