Friday, February 1, 2019

Poem: January 20, 2019

What Are You Afraid Of?

I like to imagine that Donald J. Trump
is the last gasp of a dying body,
the rattling, incoherent convulsion
that happens just before the release.
Kind of like a creature backed into a corner,
a species on the margins that failed to adapt.
Dangerous, yes, and disruptive,
as destructive to itself as it is to us.
It's easy enough to dismiss a gasp,
a tremor and spasm, then gone.
Best not to imagine him as anything else,
but still we might have to consider-
what if Donald Trump is a seed?


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