Who thought let them eat cake would ever pale
Compared, as it does, to forgetting which
Country he’d bombed, but not the one detail
We didn’t need: the most delicious, rich
Piece of chocolate cake you’ve ever seen.
An ad for Mar-a-Lago’s best dessert,
So moist, so glossy-sweet, it took the sheen
Of missile-fire to finally divert
His guest’s attention. The weight silenced him,
While Trump just kept on eating, that dumb mouth
I’ve only seen open. Full to the brim,
It later couldn’t tell the country south
Of Syria, or what he’d really done—
His cake the center of his world of one.


A single strike” is all a snowball needs
To start to tip atop a lofty hill.
The comments escalate; we’re on the verge,
Mere inklings soon give way to deadly spill.
Trippingly, polite penmanship is gone;
Gut instinct is the world’s common language;
Formalities no longer buffer wrongs.
Good or ill, reality takes main stage;
Will seas turn foul as neighbors duck and cower?
Or are these not threats but empty guises?
Will Trump, or Kim, commanding, from his tower,
Begin blind watch, cold war, demise reprise?
Despite the fact that history repeats,
It seems the steps will always give cold feet.


The rain is not of blood, or frogs, or sweat,
Or even danger. The human is not
In it. It looks so like a jumbo jet,
A metal tube with wings. It can be shot
One thousand miles from target. Can be bought
A million bucks apiece. The deaths are net,
Not gross. Unlike the gas, the horror’s not
A gasping, grasping at the throat, the wet
Of suffocation. The bolt’s not a god’s,
Or even man’s, but math’s, and hence, is dropped
Without a warning from above. A streak,
And then it’s light revenge, or justice, lots
Drawn even. Can it help deter? It stopped
Six hearts dead cold, though none here missed a beat.